


After Dark

by Sapphylicious



Series: Long Way Down [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Kitsune, M/M, Magic, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's tough finding a job to match one's unique schedule and dietary needs. Beggars can't be choosers, but maybe Kuroko should have read the fine print before he signed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. now hiring

Every three days was a comfortable feeding schedule. It varied from person to person, and Kuroko had learned to be more frugal than most, but once every three days was adequate for him. He could stretch it to four without too much difficulty. Five was usually pushing it, especially now, since the last time he'd fed could barely count as a snack.

A luxuriously _good_ snack, true; there was no comparison to fresh blood still warm from the body. Kuroko had just about forgotten that taste, so different from the kind that was diluted with chemicals to prevent it from congealing in storage. Most vampires nowadays contented themselves with such fare, and it was the safest option, least likely to draw the attention of the local authorities or worse.

Although considering the recent reminder, Kuroko could almost understand why some were willing to risk the notice of the guild to hunt. Aomine Daiki was young and healthy—no surprise that his blood was potent. Kuroko thought that would make up for how little of it he took, but maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part, born of the desperation to stop before he got carried away. _More_ carried away, he had to amend, guilt-tripping himself into honesty. There had been that moment of shock when his tongue had chased the taste of skin rather than blood, and found it equally tantalizing.

As if one voracious appetite wasn't enough. Kuroko buried his face in his hands (mildly surprised to feel warmth under his skin and briefly wondered how his body could spare the blood for a physiological response to embarrassment), not for the first time regretting the fact he'd been turned at this stage in life. The adolescent inconveniences were never-ending.

He let out a small sigh, just audible enough to send the other person in the restaurant's break room reeling. "Wh-where did you come from?"

"I was here when you came in."

"Really? Wait, you work here?"

"Yes. Since three and a half weeks ago." The uniform was self-evident, he thought, but it couldn't hurt to clarify.

Finding a job had naturally been one of his first orders of business since arriving in Tokyo with what little savings he possessed. Waiting tables was far from ideal, but his options were limited when hiring managers took one look at him and saw a student—or somewhat more accurately, a dropout. Fortunately, Kuroko was an old hand at this. He made just enough to pay his rent, which was fine for the most part; as far as housing he didn't need more than a roof over his head and a bath now and then, but food was a completely different matter.

"You okay there? Not sick, are you?"

"I'm fine. My shift is over, anyway." Kuroko rose to his feet, taking it slow and still having to fight a wave of dizziness once he was upright. He swallowed, throat parched—or maybe he was imagining that. They said a vampire turned to dust when it starved, the same as if it had been staked. Kuroko was used to the pinch of hunger, could even ignore it for extended lengths of time until it became a gnawing ache, driven to desperation when presented with blood scent after a long fast. He remembered what it felt like to die, the life quite literally flowing out of him, and then the life flowing _into_ him with the unmistakable lacing of magic that jolted and fused everything back together.

Kuroko's hand drifted to rest over his beating heart, cataloguing its steady thuds. His fingers dug into comfortingly solid flesh.

_"Then do you have a death wish or something?"_

A half-smile formed on Kuroko's face. After all these years it seemed he was still rather fond of living, even if it was an ageless, blood-bound existence in the shadows.

(Or maybe it was just that a vampire's end—ashes to ashes, dust to dust—was too inglorious, and too sad a thing to bear.)

#

A couple days ago, an unmarked envelope had found its way into Kuroko's hands. It seemed to have been dropped on the floor of the restaurant, paper wrinkled and stamped with the dirt-smudged imprint of someone's shoe. Picking it up and looking it over, Kuroko had naturally asked if it belonged to anyone.

"Eh? Was that thing always there?"

"What is it?"

"Where did it come from?"

Maybe it had been a pitiable sense of affinity that prompted Kuroko to open the envelope; more likely, though, it had been the faint whiff of magic clinging to the battered paper. The amount was negligible, but the subtlety of the spell was a piece of work—just enough enchantment to persuade the casual observer to overlook the ensorcelled object, discouraging interest even when it was brought to attention, all without raising alarm in the human subconscious. Such a spell wasn't the work of an amateur. Only those with certain... supernatural instincts would notice the presence of magic on the thing, crippling the effectiveness of the spell for those special few.

All that considered, it was an exorbitant amount of effort when simply mailing the envelope to Kuroko's apartment would have sufficed. Sorcerers were a hubristic sort, though, and frequently in some sort of competition with one another.

Unusual delivery method aside, the only thing inside the envelope had been a folded sheet of paper, plain office quality and un-magicked, bearing a name in elegant English script: After Dark Bar and Lounge. Underneath it was an address in the same refined handwriting.

As the nighttime crowd bumped and bustled around him, Kuroko took in the building's unlit sign and dark windows. Judging by its outward appearance, the bar was closed, and there were no hours listed on the door.

No doubt this was the right place, though. If blood scent went straight to Kuroko's stomach, then magic scent went immediately to his head. The air was charged with it, sharp and electric, the same spell that had obscured the envelope now blanketing the whole building. Most likely the same sorcerer, then, or at least from the same family boasting their specialty.

If that wasn't enough to confirm the bar's nature, there was also the matter of the werewolf standing guard outside the door. He was enfolded within the spell to escape any curious passerby's notice, but even without that there was nothing overtly suspicious, dangerous, or wolfish about the young man. Kuroko could identify him only thanks to past familiarity with the race and their subtle tells in body language; experiencing the world nose first resulted in certain habits, familiar stances or gestures, which gave away the wolf inside the human skin. This particular werewolf, aside from his above-average height, seemed to be as quiet and unobtrusive as Kuroko was himself. The direct line of his gaze simply acknowledged Kuroko's presence without inviting him in or threatening him away. It was unusual to find lone werewolves separated from their pack, though they did make for good bodyguards.

Kuroko reminded himself that there was no vampire-werewolf feud in Japan. Powers willing, it would stay that way, and he proceeded to venture nearer. The guard maintained his stoic vigil, pausing only to bend down when Kuroko was close enough to politely clock his scent. No growling or baring of teeth, just a mute nod that Kuroko returned for courtesy's sake before pushing the door open.

The inside of the After Dark Bar and Lounge was dimly lit, but lit all the same, contrary to what the windows outside would lead one to believe. Tables and chairs were arranged comfortably throughout, about half of them occupied, and a small crowd gathered around a couple of pool tables at the rear of the room. The clack of billiard balls and the low hum of conversation wove in and out through a backdrop of music that was at least a decade out of style. The decorations, too, were cozy rather than modern.

As for the clientele, they were a varied bunch. Demons of all kinds, some wearing a human face and others boasting scales, fur, claws, the whole works—a pack of them sat around a table playing cards with a pot consisting of local and foreign coins intermixed with raw gemstones, small bones, and teeth. What first appeared to be a drooping, dried-out plant in one corner was actually a gnarled old man who creaked whenever he shifted. A woman covered in swan feathers worked tirelessly by the window with piles of needlework overflowing in her lap. There were a few vampires, too, or some other relation judging by the drinks they were nursing. 

Kuroko smelled the blood from clear across the room and suddenly it was all he could notice. Hunger cramped his belly and his throat ached for the viscous slide of liquid, heavier than water, laden with the pulse of life. Somehow he made his way to the bar and slumped gracelessly into a seat.

"What can I get you?" The bartender's uniform was rumpled as if recently slept in, but he was immaculate from the neck up, hair slicked back save for a strand hanging loose in front of the mole dotting his forehead. He peered closely at Kuroko before comprehension etched a smile on his mouth. "A fellow bloodsucker if I'm not mistaken." Vampires had their own tells, and he spoke with a voice of experience which left no room for doubt. Perhaps it was thanks to the job; one was sure to meet a lot of people at a place like this. "Type preference?"

"Just cheap, please."

"Don't tell me you're on a student allowance." Hard to tell if he was joking, but as he said it he reached for a red-filled bottle on the shelf. There were many more beside it, their contents varying in color, clarity, and consistency. A few included murky, unidentifiable objects floating around in the liquid, and others contained smoke or gas. None were labeled, but the bartender spoke with oft-repeated expertise as he poured, "Pig's blood is the most common around here. And since you're new, the first drink is on the house."

"Thank you." The glass was generously full, and Kuroko began by sipping from the top. It was room temperature, several degrees lower than ideal, and had the medicinal taste that came with all stored blood—but it slaked his clamoring thirst, and before long he had the glass thrown back, emptying it in a matter of heartbeats.

A low whistle undercut the air. "Refill?"

"…Please." Kuroko thumbed a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and licked it off, suppressing a shiver at acute peak in his senses. The fuzzy gauze he'd been living in thinned and gave way to sharp clarity, enabling him to discern between the assorted blood scents wafting throughout the room. The pig's blood he'd just consumed was most prominent, but there were others, too. Mostly more animals, some rather demonic in nature (which made him wrinkle his nose, but there was no accounting for some people's tastes). Nothing human from what he could tell, and that eased some of the last remaining tension from his shoulders. He was hyper aware of the slip of fangs through his gums despite having no prey to tear into, as well as the chemical aftertaste of anticoagulant coating his tongue (which, to his chagrin, still hadn't forgotten the body-warm and skin-salt taste of Aomine's blood).

Kuroko swallowed, and through sheer force of will bent his attention back to the refilled glass waiting for him. He drank this one more slowly, accustoming himself to the idea that he could fully sate his hunger, but held back once he hit a plateau to ensure he didn't binge himself sick.

The bartender continued to observe him with a quiet smile that was a shade on the creepy side, but when one had to feed on the blood of others to survive, a little bit of creepy was nothing to fret over. He was attentive to his other customers as well, taking orders as they came and cleaning up in between service. Drinks ranged from spring water to something that looked more than a little acidic in a thickly lined glass. The rows of bottles behind the counter were practically luminescent, and Kuroko found his gaze straying up to the top shelf. What was considered premium fare in a bar like this? He could only think of a few possibilities.

Glass clinked as a bottle was returned to its place, its contents black with an oily sheen. "Must be tough," the bartender commented, retrieving a rag to wipe down the counter. "I wouldn't want to be stuck with a face that young. For any number of reasons."

The bartender's face wasn't _that_ much older, although he had a better chance at passing for an adult than Kuroko did. "It's somewhat inconvenient," he allowed.

"You aren't really a student, are you?"

"No."

"Hmm." He made a show of turning a thought over in his mind, but his eyes were already decided before they locked with Kuroko's. "Are you interested in a job?"

"…What kind of job?"

"Deliveries. Some folks find it difficult to make it here. Of course, others just make themselves at home." He nodded to the old man in the corner who, upon closer inspection, had roots dug firmly into the floorboards. The bartender turned back to Kuroko. "The hours would be after dark, naturally. Travel fare while on the clock would be covered. As for pay… free drinks or cash if you'd prefer."

Kuroko's fingers relaxed imperceptibly on his glass. He'd made similar deals with other people, in other places and other times. "Could that be split half and half?" He still had rent to pay, but securing a regular feeding schedule was too tempting to resist.

"No problem. Any other questions?"

"One more."

"Shoot."

"Do you always offer jobs to whoever walks through the door?" There hadn't been any hiring signs on the windows, but neither was there any other staff in sight. It was feasible that the place could use the extra help.

"Heh. Well, no," the bartender admitted, leaning on his elbows so his face was more on level with Kuroko's. "But we don't get that many starving vampires stumbling in, either."

"I see. So it's a pity offer."

He shrugged. "Doesn't seem to bother you, if you don't mind me saying."

Fair point; the longer Kuroko lived, the less use he had for pride. 

"I really could use the help. You could also say I'm taking advantage of your circumstances."

Well, that _sounded_ honest, and the arrangement was convenient for him as well. "As long as we understand each other, I have no complaints."

The bartender's smile deepened in satisfaction. "Good. How about a drink to seal the deal?" He reached for a bottle—top shelf—with a knowing look that said he'd noticed Kuroko's earlier observation.

The stopper came out and Kuroko took a deliberate, measured breath as the drink was poured. This scent… was different. Sparks of something distressingly familiar. A weight like a fist pounded inside his chest for attention, then went sullen and quiet when he raised the glass to his lips.

Confirmation struck like a lightning bolt: there was magic in the blood.

Another shock when he amended: in the plain, common pig's blood.

Kuroko nearly choked and ended up sputtering a little behind his hand.

The bartender offered him a napkin with a distinctly unpleasant air of smugness. "How is it? The taste isn't quite right, but pretty close, isn't it?"

Cautiously, carefully, Kuroko took another sip, prepared this time for the peculiar blend to hit his tongue. Warm—the blood was much warmer than it should have been, and it tasted fresh. It shouldn't taste like this after being bottled, after just a few minutes it cooled once free of the body. Kuroko raised his gaze to the bartender's amused smile, his dark, secretive eyes. "That's an unusual spell."

"Isn't it just?" He corked the bottle again, stroking the glass fondly before returning it to the shelf, and offered no hint as to what sorcerer he had in his pocket to do him such odd favors.

Kuroko's stare lingered on the top shelf for a moment before dropping, and the question was allowed to escape without pursuit. Stranger things had happened. One learned to take these things as they came.

#

Sicilian weather was warming up and drying out at this time of year, although the Mediterranean breeze helped as it filtered through the villa. Solitary whitewashed walls were built into a mass of volcanic cliff jutting out of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and steep stairs were carved into the rock leading down to a small cove where no boat had ever docked, though footprints occasionally dotted the stretch of sand. Despite being centuries old, the place had only ever been graced by a few privileged inhabitants; those who could claim ancestry to the distinguished crest painted over the arch of the door.

Midorima sighed, one hand cupped under the empty spiral of turbo shell that was his lucky item today while the other pushed his glasses up. Upon the bed— _his_ bed, unfortunately—a half-curled figure rumpled and creased his Egyptian cotton sheets. Stray reddish-brown feathers floated to the polished hardwood floor as an immense wingspan twitched and shuddered to the tune of pained moans and whimpers, eliciting not one drop of sympathy from Midorima, who merely watched and said, "You realize you brought this upon yourself."

An unintelligible sound emanated from the pillow in which Takao had shoved his face. His wings drooped to either side of the bed, tips dragging along the floor in disgrace.

Midorima added, "I even warned you about the Sirocco."

"A _strong wind_ , you said." Takao's face turned to the side, wearing a sour expression, his voice scratchy from inhaling too much dust blown in from the Sahara. "Strong wind—hah! That was a hurricane raining sand instead of water."

"Only because you flew too near the African coast. The winds weren't nearly as drastic up here."

"I just wanted to stretch my wings a bit, it's so boring here…" He shrugged his shoulders and winced as the abused muscles pulled, groaning extravagantly. "And now I'm _grounded_."

That, Midorima would admit, was a problem, if only because he wouldn't be able to get any work done with a bored, house-bound hawk spirit underfoot. Takao had specific uses, and those uses required him to be mobile. "Fine," he said, setting the shell aside to unwrap the binding tape from his left hand. The fingers underneath it were long and immaculately clean, maintaining their sensitivity throughout all manner of weather conditions so that the power channeled through them could be directed with fine-tuned, often deadly precision.

Takao's eyes went round. "I'm not so bad off I need to be put out of my misery, though!" He hunched his shoulders despite the obvious pain, wings trying to furl inward in alarmed protest.

"Quiet." Midorima cast him a baleful look. "I don't use this spell often. I'll need to concentrate or else you'll be more miserable than you can imagine."

"…Right. Well, warn a guy before you take off the kid gloves, sheesh." The wings relaxed again, leaving enough room for Midorima to sit on the bed and hover over Takao's exposed back. His feathers were ragged and sparse in places, his skin roughened from wind-whipped sand, and there was considerable swelling, but that was the extent of the visible injuries. He was sure to squawk about such things later when he could afford to worry about aesthetics, but none of it should affect his flying (which was a magic-aided feat to begin with). Honestly, he was fortunate to not have broken anything from being tossed around like that. Bad enough he'd nearly crashed into the cliff wall when wobbling in through the balcony.

Midorima stretched out the fingers of his hand and intoned, " _Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit._ " The austere Latin syllables were a familiar weight on his tongue, but their release into the air was negligible compared to the resonance of the link to his magic. A connection was opened, and as always, his earnest proposition was answered. The power settled neatly into his hand, warm and pulsing with a steady heartbeat matched to his own, to do with as he willed.

He contemplated Takao's back again, picturing the damaged slope of muscle over bone. Healing was not his forte; he had only a grasp of the basics to serve in an emergency, and Takao's body tensed with this shared knowledge even while he remained still and compliant as a show of faith.

Feathers rustled when Midorima's hand touched upon the strip of flesh between stiff wing joints extending from beds of down. His magic sank through the skin and Takao squirmed with discomfort, though it wasn't as bad as it could have been thanks to their contract. Some of Midorima's power was tied to the hawk spirit, and compatibility always made things easier.

Nevertheless, there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Mending the torn muscle fibers was delicate work, and as much as he'd prefer to fix everything in one go, the slightest doubt could tempt fate. He left those injuries alone; they would heal well enough with time, so for now all Midorima did was cool the area and reduce the swelling. The lungs were a concern, and respiratory infection was an ugly possibility. Perhaps a natural remedy would be best for that. He smoothed the worst of the outer abrasions with a steady pass of his hand, and with that much Takao might be able to rest comfortably—even if it did have to be in Midorima's bed.

He was considering the merits of putting Takao under a sleep spell for the day to ensure peace and quiet when the faint vibration of the security system jolted him out of his concentration. There was a mass of invisible power threads webbing the villa which instantly alerted him to a stranger's presence. The tremor wasn't bad enough to disturb his work (if that was the case the whole villa would have crumbled into the sea ages ago), but it did make him pause to identify the intruder. The magical signature was a familiar one, bringing to mind a vague sense of irritation— _oh._

Before he could tell her in no uncertain terms to _go away_ , a voice caroled from the entryway: "Midorin~! You home?"

A snicker sounded from the pillow and Takao's eye glinted when he turned his head. "You know, you could just change the location of the portal."

"Its current location is ideal." Midorima's reply was spoken with the rapid ease of a familiar argument. "The energies involved for a transportation spell are sensitive and complex. Changing the location of the portal would increase the possibility of disruption, and at best the spell would fail to achieve the desired result. At worst…"

"Here you are! Why didn't you say—oh, dear." As soon as Momoi's face appeared in the doorway she went as pink as her hair and spun right around, hands locked innocently behind her back. "Ah, if this is a bad time I could come back later…?"

For some reason Takao was shaking, and judging by the short snatches of laughter being muffled into the pillow, it wasn't due to pain. Seeing how he wasn't going to get anything else done for time being, Midorima cut off the flow of power and withdrew his hand. "Whatever it is, you've already interrupted once. I'd rather not be interrupted again at a later date, so let's get this over with."

Momoi peeked over her shoulder, still blushing—and she _should_ be embarrassed for inviting herself in just because she happened to know about the portal. Midorima hadn't offered her the use of it whenever she wanted. Impudently, she smiled. "All right, I'll wait in the study if you'd like to finish up first."

"Don't just go through other people's houses like—" But with a flick of her hair she was already gone, humming cheerfully. Midorima's hand clenched. "Of all the insolent…!"

"Take it easy, Shin-chan. Why don't you go see what's up?" Takao twitched his wings with less pain than he had before, and gave Momoi a run for her money in insolence as he snuggled happily into Midorima's bed. Grinning widely, he added, "Unless there's something you'd like to finish first…?"

Midorima rewrapped his left hand with smooth, unhurried motions despite the acidity in his tone. "I'm done with the healing, but don't move too much. You're not actually fixed yet."

"Geez, you don't have to talk like I'm broken." Takao pouted, kicking his feet. "As usual, Shin-chan is no fun."

"…If you really need a proper healing…"

"No, no, never mind that." He had the nerve to sigh gustily and roll his eyes, flapping a hand in a shooing motion. "Go see what Satsuki-chan needs. You can assure her that your virtue is still intact, if you want."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Takao simply raised an eyebrow. His wings canted so he could roll on his side and prop a hand under his cheek, posing coquettishly under a sweep of red-brown feathers, and something finally clicked into place.

"You…!" Midorima began, then thought better of it and redirected his flame-hot outrage, flinging an arm towards the empty doorway with an incredulous finger pointed. "She…?!"

"Common misconception, I'm sure," Takao said with a dry chuckle that followed Midorima out the door. 

He made his way down the hall to the study with starch indignity in every step. Momoi had already made herself at home, opening the window to let in a breeze that rustled the edges of the papers she was nosily bent over. Midorima cleared his throat. She didn't even look up. "Wow," she said instead, tucking her hair behind her ear while her avid eyes scanned the contents of his desk with far more comprehension than he was comfortable with. "Is this the case you're working on? I heard about it on the news but didn't think it was in your field."

"I'm not obliged to share the details of my work with you; in fact, that information is meant to be _confidential_." This time she lifted her face with a sheepish apology written across her features, and took a pointed step away from the desk. It hardly mollified him. "About before," he continued. "I'm afraid a misunderstanding occurred."

"Before?"

"Yes," he said with teeth-grinding composure. "That wasn't... what it looked like. You completely misread the situation."

She blinked, then smiled. "Oh, is that all? Sorry." Before Midorima could consider the matter safely closed she giggled behind her hand and added, "But you know, just in case, I'm not the type to judge!"

Midorima's hands slammed down on the desk. Momoi barely jumped, showing only mild concern when he leaned in and narrowed his eyes. "There is _nothing_ like what you are assuming between Takao and I. That was merely a spell-casting procedure to heal him. You call yourself a witch and you weren't able to deduce that?"

"Eh? Is Kazu-kun all right?"

Of course the stupid hawk was the only part of that she cared about. Midorima allowed his shoulders to sag—minutely—in defeat. "...He's fine. That idiot flew into a sandstorm and pulled a few muscles, that's all."

Momoi 'ooh'-ed in sympathy. "I wish I could help, but it's not my area... Hey, speaking of which, I didn't know you could heal that way." She indicated "that way" with her hand splayed out, wiggling her fingers. Then her cheeks puffed, expression turning cross over the silliest of things. "Family magic really does make things easier. No fussing with rare commodities or memorizing incantations…"

"Of course it's a privilege for the elite, but it's not a shortcut as you seem to imply." He straightened so he could look down his nose at her, which only deepened her furrowed glare. For good measure, he added, "Haven't you learned anything?"

For a moment she looked ready to let fly with her fist. She spent far too much time around that hunter brute of hers, and together they made for an ill-mannered self-made pair, the like of which didn't fit into any circle of Midorima's world. Fortunately, the moment for violence passed, and Momoi heaved a deep sigh that did interesting things to her bosom which Midorima resolutely pretended not to notice. "Geez, Midorin is difficult as usual."

He twitched at the nickname. "Forgive me for being difficult. Is there something you actually needed, or are you imposing on me at your leisure?"

"…There is something." With those words Momoi's entire demeanor changed, becoming gentler and more subdued. Her gaze trailed enviously along the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls before coming to rest, business-like, on Midorima. She extended her hand with a slip of paper folded between her fingers. "Do you know this crest?"

He took the proffered sketch and could tell at a glance it was like Momoi's; recent and singular, lacking the depth and distinction of a family lineage. He could search all the family registries at his disposal and probably never find a match. Midorima let the picture fall. "Don't tell me you're wasting my time with something like this."

"It was worth a shot." Wearing a half smile, Momoi crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. "Then, what can you tell me about vampires that wield sorcery?"

…Ah, that was a much more suitable matter to bring to him. Midorima pushed his glasses up. "They're uncommon, for one thing. What have you already found out?"

"Just the bare minimum. They're usually not very powerful, but they can add to their strength by drinking a sorcerer's blood." She grimaced at this detail, then continued, "The texts were dodgy regarding their origins. Most said only the oldest vampires are capable of magic, but that's… not quite right, is it?"

Too smart for her own good sometimes, and far, far too inquisitive. Still, he didn't hate her meticulous efforts. "Go on."

"Age is just a number," Momoi said, very careful with her words as if sounding out her argument for the first time. "Magic will ripen whenever the seed is planted. Therefore, the primogenitor is the one with the sorcery potential. All vampiric traits lose their potency down the line, and that includes magic, the key component of their making. It thins with each generation so the descendents wouldn't be able to access it for use beyond reproducing. Theoretically."

"Powers willing, yes."

Momoi clapped her hands together once. "So I'm right?"

"Close enough," he hedged. Actually, her conclusion was incredibly astute, if a little dangerous. Best to steer the conversation in a different direction. "So you mean to say that this—" he tapped the paper with the crest drawn on it, "—belongs to a vampire?"

"Mm. Perhaps..."

"It doesn't help either of us if you withhold information, Momoi."

Her cheeks pinked, and her laugh had a surprised ring to it. "Right, sorry. Yes, I'm almost certain. It's embarrassing to admit, but at the time I didn't recognize the signs until too late. It was… oh, four or five years ago at the start of high school. He got Dai-chan into some mess, and then vanished once the guild caught onto his trail. We only learned he was a vampire from them." She noticed the narrow look he shot her way and shook her head. "They didn't know much else, and if they've learned anything new they're not sharing. You know how they are—almost as bad as you."

"A healthy amount of secrecy is a given in this world, Momoi. Even you must realize the potential chaos otherwise." His thoughts coalesced as he spoke; he might have more luck inquiring with the guild than she had. They owed him one or two personal favors.

"Well, yes, that would be awful, I'm not saying otherwise."

"It would be intolerable." He picked up the scrap paper to commit its details to memory. There was a certain elegance to the design, but also deliberate ruthlessness in the bold primary symbols. What these things lacked in history they made up for in personality. "I assume your mystery vampire has a name? Even an alias will do."

"My mystery _sorcerer_ ," she emphasized, and Midorima could not hold back his scowl at the insult to his heritage, something an undistinguished witch who came late into her power would never understand, "was called Akashi Seijuurou." 

The surname might have been familiar, which was promising. There was no more need for prompting; Momoi rattled off an impressive list of statistics and descriptors that reminded Midorima why he tolerated her. When she put her mind to it she could be very capable for a mere witch. It was almost a shame that her magic was negligible. 

(Although, a contrary part of him couldn't help but point out, when it came to either a bludgeon or a scalpel he knew which one he would pick, and Momoi used her few talents with calculated aplomb.)

He found only one fault in her detailed summary, and though he could guess why, he asked anyway to make sure: "True age? Round to the nearest century if you have to."

A frown creased her brow. "I would if I could. He gave very little away, even in retrospect. I would guess relatively young, modern-age, except… if he can use magic, he's first generation."

"Which is possible," Midorima conceded, but with no small amount of unhappiness. "A recently-made primogenitor would be the worst case scenario, though. And don't," he added sternly when Momoi started to open her mouth, "ask questions you know have classified answers."

"Hmph. Can't blame a girl for trying. I bet the answer's 'no,' anyway." She stuck her tongue out, cheeky to the point of ridiculous. "If there was a rogue sorcerer breaking the law to create new vampires, Midorin would look more pleased with himself after hearing out my wealth of information."

"Untrue."

" _So_ true."

"Anyway," Midorima said, leaning away from the impertinent finger attempting to poke his face. "If that's all you have for me, I will see what I can do in my spare time—of which, I might add, is precious little lately."

If anything, that only perked Momoi up more. "Ooh, because of the case? Can you tell me anything about it? Just a teensy little hint?"

"No, and it's none of your business." He steadfastly ignored her and walked to one of his bookshelves.

"Stingy~"

The tip of his finger skimmed across a row of spines, many of them in flawless condition despite their tremendous age and having survived earthquakes, fire, and flood. He pulled free one such book and opened to its index, double-checking the relevant pages before closing it and thumping Momoi's forehead with the cover. "You may entertain yourself with this in the meantime. I imagine the chapters on sorcery inheritance and non-human sorcery will be of particular interest to you."

Momoi reached for the book with the same sparkling awe as a child reaching for a present. Her eyes were wide and… disturbingly wet when she blinked, moisture collecting on her lashes. "Midorin…"

He turned so he wouldn't have to look at her. "It's to keep you out of my way. Now, go. I'll contact you if I find something worthwhile. Perhaps by then Takao will be capable of relaying messages."

There was a suspicious sniffling noise from behind him, and then Momoi saying, "But couldn't I just check in from time to time? I might have questions about the text—"

"No," he said flatly, and repeated for good measure, "no, you may not. Let me be clear: you are not welcome to barge in at your convenience. This is not to become a habit."

"…It's not like I'd come just to play…"

"Good. Keep that in mind going forward."

There was a brief gap of silence, and then Momoi moved into his field of vision, book clutched to her chest and her expression so solemn he had no choice but to pay attention. "One favor, though. If you do find something, I would prefer to discuss it in a safe place, just in case." Her straightforward gaze was stripped of airy cheer, her lightheartedness weighed down, revealing… not fear so much as the strength to bear it.

One searching look was all he needed to nod his consent. "Reasonable enough. I'll take precautions." 

"Okay." Her eyes closed for a peaceful moment with a volume of contentment that was at odds with such a simple agreement on his part. _If you really need…_ But before he could get a single word out she flipped right back to her usual self, sunny smile and all. "Good! I'll be out of your hair then—don't worry, I'll see myself out. And thanks for this!" She twirled in a circle, book held high, and just about danced her way out, gracefully sidestepping Takao's gangly form that appeared curiously in the doorway. "Bye, Midorin, Kazu-kun!"

Midorima was left staring and feeling a twinge of empathy for Takao. Momoi was nothing if not a pink, persistent whirlwind blowing him every which way.

"Hmm, that didn't look like it went too badly." Takao leaned against the doorframe, wings folded at his back.

"I told you not to move," Midorima said absently, coming out of his stunned daze.

"I didn't hear you yelling, so I figured things were really bad… or maybe really good." Some mysteries, like Takao's smile right now, were never meant to be unraveled, so Midorima didn't even try.

He went about straightening up his desk, arranging papers in their proper order and putting the sketch away in a drawer for safekeeping. "Go lie back down before you injure yourself further. I'm only willing to heal so much of your own stupidity."

"Your concern is so touching." Nonetheless, he did wince when he shrugged his wings, not quite managing to bring them in enough to fit through the door. "Ah, poor Satsuki-chan. You could have warned her."

"Eavesdropping is a despicable habit, Takao. And I've no idea what you're talking about."

Takao gave a pronounced eye roll. "I'm talking about that precious work of yours that's been keeping you up all night, Mr. Crankypants. Or is there some other reason you're obsessing over sorcerer disappearances in the Tokyo area?"

"It's my _job_ , Takao. And the details are classified." He went to the bookshelf again, selected a volume and searched for the desired page. Moderate healing; internal; strains and sprains. His stores of components were always well-stocked with nothing but the best, so he only glanced at the list to ensure that all the requirements were met. Midorima marked the page and flung a pointed finger at Takao. "Go lie down, I'm fixing you after all. There's work I need you to do."

Takao's answer was a mighty groan, but he turned around and trudged obediently down the hall while complaining about slave drivers and other choice slanders. In between, he reiterated his lament of, "Poor Satsuki-chan."

That concern—that fixation, more like, was unfounded as far as Midorima could tell. The culprit hadn't yet bothered with witches of meager power; the main reason the case had been brought to his attention in the first place was due to the high profile victims from powerful families. That it was an important matter which required a great deal of dedication and effort went without saying. Furthermore, Momoi wasn't the only acquaintance he knew in the affected area, so he was hardly being biased.

If the book he'd lent her (which she was certain to study from cover to cover) also happened to contain a section on minimum-preparation field-use defensive spells, that was entirely coincidence.

#

Rousing himself before evening had set in was a rare feat, though today it was made easier by the weather. Tokyo had been relentlessly gray from the ground up all week, the sun a distant, forgotten dream. The air was thick with humidity that wreaked havoc on Kuroko's already intractable bedhead, which he didn't even bother fixing before going out and mingling with the late afternoon crowd. Regardless of presentation, he passed unnoticed through the increasingly familiar streets, all the way until he reached After Dark's doorstep. No wolf at the door this time; no need when it was hours yet before the bar properly opened.

His knuckles tapped on the glass, and after a moment the door swung open with a bleary-eyed Seto on the other side. The state of his hair was just about on par with Kuroko's, and half of his uniform's buttons hadn't been done up yet. "Oh, good," he said, and then was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. "…Thanks for coming in so early."

The inside of the bar was the same no matter what time of day, perpetually shadowed, and never entirely empty. Kuroko inclined his head in greeting to the old man wood spirit nestled in his corner, giving the place a faint pine scent—at least until Seto plunked a glass down and filled it with breakfast, chugging the blood with the appetite of a vampire used to eating well.

"Here," he said, pouring a second glass and sliding it into Kuroko's hands. Kuroko was more sedate with his drinking which in itself was an uncommon luxury, or had been for a while. Doubtless it would be so again, but he'd long since become accustomed to the wax and wane of the times.

Neither of them was up this early to chat. Seto disappeared into the back and returned with a cellophane-wrapped lump oozing red and smelling raw. He hefted its weight, eyeballing it critically, and scribbled down a price based on his mental calculations. The merchandise went into an insulated bag that he passed to Kuroko, along with the hand-written receipt and an address. It was farther than usual—a small town out in the countryside—hence the early start.

"That should do it," Seto said.

Kuroko finished his drink, and feeling marginally more prepared to face what was left of the day, he shouldered the bag and politely excused himself.

Exiting the pleasantly air-conditioned bar was like stepping into a dense wall of sticky, smothering heat. Kuroko faltered, for even behind a blanket of towering clouds the sun's presence was too close for comfort, though it was less of a physical pain and more of a drain on his strength. Under the full impact of the sun's rays, even the simple act of moving required concentrated effort.

Taking a deep breath, Kuroko willed one foot in front of the other and steadily made his way to the train station, bag held tight under his arm and self-conscious of the very weak blood scent emanating from within. Of course, it was nothing that would attract the attention of an average human passerby, but twice now he'd felt the vague off-kilter sensation of being noticed in a crowd while making a delivery for Seto. The feeling never lasted, and didn't follow him along his route, so he hadn't yet acted upon it. He rather hoped it was pure coincidence, but in his experience so few things were ever that happenstance.

_"Akashi-kun, do you believe in fate?"_

_"What a strange question coming from you, Tetsuya. About that… well, I wonder."_

Kuroko shook his head, shaking out the thoughts as well. Whatever happened, happened. He had a job to do and a life to live, regardless of what it had in store for him.


	2. occupational hazards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kise has a bad day and misery loves company.

"Eeh?! Wait, but—are you serious?"

"Yes… I'm sorry, Ryouta, I had no idea you'd be visiting."

"Ah, geez…" He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it through his fingers. "It's not your fault, and I only had time because the shoot was rescheduled."

"I hope you're not already on the train…"

Kise's gazed flicked from one end of the station to the other, as packed as it ever got this far from the city where there was less hustle and bustle, late afternoon on a Friday. Returning to the matter at hand, he technically wasn't _on_ the train. "No, no, I'm—" An automated announcement pinged overhead, spilling over the rest of his words like a true tattletale, and when it was over Kise finished lamely, "…already here."

"Oh, dear." He could hear his mother sigh on the other end, all the way out in Hokkaido. "Well, in that case, please get some rest at home. You've been busy lately."

"Yeah, sounds good." Sounded less than ideal, but he could at least drop off the present while he was home. "I'll see you when I see you, then. Happy birthday, mom."

"Thank you. The weather said there would be a storm, so be careful. Oh, and would you like to speak with Kaori-san? Here."

_Geh._ "Wait, no, that's—"

"Ryou-tan! How've you been?"

Kise slumped, preemptive exhaustion setting in at the sound of that cheery greeting. "…Kaori-san…"

"Sorry for kidnapping Asa-tan, but the humidity has been _unbearable_ lately. No need for her to swelter in that heat. Ah, it's nice and dry up here in Sapporo~ Too bad we missed the Yosakoi festival, but there are still plenty of sights to see. I haven't been in this area since—well, since it was just the Ishikari Plain. My, how time flies."

"Oh, yeah," he agreed—too readily—into his phone, "those centuries, they just fly on by."

"Now, now," Kaori chided, more likely than not lounging about in a half-open yukata with her blonde hair draping loose and damp around a face that belonged on magazine covers. "You'll come to know what I mean."

Like he needed reminding when all he had to do was look in a mirror, or at the countless ads and spreads featuring a face very similar to the woman's up north. He rubbed a hand over said face, ignoring the stolen looks from girls and women alike as they passed, whispering excitedly to each other. "Right, sure. Anyway, you two have fun."

"Aw, so lonely. You could come join us if you want. Take a vacation now and then, Ryou-tan!"

"Pass. What kind of single grown man goes on vacation with his—" Kise checked himself, mindful of the surrounding crowd, "—parents."

Feminine giggles trickled through the call, and Kaori's slightly muffled voice could be heard saying: "he thinks he's all grown up, isn't that cute?"

Then his mother's voice, calm and quiet: "please dry your hair properly, Kaori-san."

More laughter. "Asa-ta~n, come here."

"I'm hanging up," Kise announced loudly.

"Bye-bye!"

"Take care, dear."

"Oh, wait! One more thing—"

Kise ended the call with a press of a button, holding it down until the power went off. Once the display was blank he let out a long sigh. He should have known Kaori would visit for his mother's birthday, in which case all the better they were miles and miles away. There were some things a son really didn't need to know.

"I guess I'll head home."

#

For what it was worth, the sky had the decency to rumble a warning before opening up and dropping sheets of rain on him. Kise was about five minutes from the house when it happened, but it only took five seconds to soak him through.

"You're kidding!"

Lightning flashed merrily overhead as if to say otherwise.

He ran the rest of the way home even though there was no use trying to stay dry, because that was just what people did when caught in a sudden downpour unless they were dramatically depressed (which Kise was not), or guest appearing in a Jpop starlet's tearfully-embracing-in-the-rain music video (which Kise had done, and then been barraged for weeks by too-friendly texts from said starlet). He was thoroughly sodden with his hair plastered to his face when he stomped up to the front door and wrestled it open with a windy clatter. Rain spewed inside despite his best efforts to minimize the deluge.

"Just great…" Dripping all over, he toed off his shoes with a wet squelch and peeled off his socks while he was at it, bare feet leaving damp imprints across the floorboards. In the dark his fingers found the light switch with unerring accuracy of habit, and he stopped by the closet to retrieve some towels before trudging up the stairs to his old room. 

Not much had changed. To his credit he had never been outrageously messy in the first place, but the room did appear more immaculate with a precisely arranged bedspread and completely uncluttered desk, giving it that unlived-in look of home decor magazines. The posters that still occupied the walls were nostalgic but childish to him now, as were the trophies and awards—small and meaningless ones from a bevy of activities that had come and gone with the seasons—displayed along a shelf. Most were from sports; soccer one year, tennis the next, basketball had maintained his interest for a while in junior high. At a glance the collection proclaimed, "Jack of all trades and master of none." His more lucrative, professional achievements were showcased downstairs for public admiration. 

"Home" was the word that came to his lips when speaking of this place, those times he needed to feed interviewers the occasional childhood anecdote, but the word always emerged like an echo from days long past. 

_"You'll come to know what I mean."_

Kise blinked and darted his eyes away from the mirror they'd been resting on. He focused instead on shucking off his wet clothes to toss in the dryer later. The moisture that clung to his skin was more sticky than cool, made mildly better after toweling dry. He had spare clothes aplenty in his closet, one of the side effects of the business, although this particular selection was at least a year or two out of date—then again, who was around to care? In a matter of seconds he was dressed in a gauzy linen shirt and khakis from a summer catalog he'd modeled near the end of high school. The photoshoot had been at the beach. In January. Ankle-deep in freezing seawater. Mouth numb from sucking on ice to prevent his breath from showing in the pictures. All the while the finicky sun had played a game of hide-and-seek behind the clouds, which produced the wretched effect of dragging the shoot out for hours. 

The memory brought with it a shade of relief in the middle of all this oppressive heat. Kise passed a towel over his head to dry his hair, wandering out into the hall and ducking into his mother's room to leave her birthday present on a table where she'd be sure to find it. The DVD had been easy enough to get, but the autographs, not so much. Kise's social circles, while impressive, didn't extend to Takarazuka Revue. Luckily he knew a photographer who was both willing to do him a favor, and had done some work with the actresses, including his mother's favorite otokoyaku. For an ikebana instructor, she had some unexpected tastes.

Trekking back downstairs, he noted the telltale traces of Kaori's presence scattered throughout the house. Her unique fragrance, for one thing, lingered faintly in the air, hinting at the smoky sandalwood of temple incense. It was annoyingly pleasant when Kise would have preferred it to be cloying and unbearable. Next, he discovered the barley tea stocked in the fridge was sweeter than usual, to her taste, and only because she had to have snuck in the extra sugar when his mother wasn't looking. Finally, a haphazard pile of magazines were strewn across the living room table, the topmost one open—embarrassingly—to his own spread in one of last month's issues. 

"Other families keep childhood photo albums," Kise grumbled as he straightened up, replacing the stack of back issues on the shelf along with the others. Many, many others. Upon further inspection, the collection looked to be as complete as it could get, including the handful of CD singles and DVDs he'd released displayed next to a limited edition photobook (which had come with a signed poster, currently framed on the wall). A nearby spindle of discs appeared to be individually labeled with his miscellaneous television appearances.

Kise dropped his face into his hands. Apparently, his mother's fanaticism had branched out. Possibly as a result of him moving into the city and leaving her alone in the countryside, because her interest in his work hadn't been so… dedicated… when he was in school. He made a note to call her more often, and maybe not do any Calvin Klein ads anytime soon.

Thunder boomed outside, louder than ever, feeling like it shook the house. The fading echo of it overlapped what Kise eventually recognized as the buzz of the doorbell, all but drowned out by torrents of rainfall. He clambered to his feet. "Ah! Coming!" _What kind of crazy person is out in this weather?_ Never mind that not too long ago he'd been that crazy (and unfortunate) person.

"Sorry—" Naturally, opening the door invited in a blast of wind and rain that caught Kise in the face as he peered out. He squinted through the assault, scanning a landscape of swaying trees and puddles as big as lakes pooling in the dips of the empty road. "I thought I heard—"

"Excuse me."

"Eh?" He blinked once, and then again to clear the rain from his eyes, and all of a sudden there was someone standing right there on the doorstep that Kise could swear hadn't been there before. "What the—?!"

"Delivery." The boy was nonchalant for all that he looked half drowned. Pale blue hair stuck wetly to his forehead and hung over equally pale eyes as water streamed down the planes of his face. Soggy clothes hung off an adolescent frame of average height and build. The misery of his presentation didn't extend to his expression, which was peculiarly blank.

"Delivery?" Kise echoed, and then flinched at a strong gust of wind. "In this weather? Hurry up and come in at least." 

"Please excuse my intrusion." The incessant lash of rain grew louder, then muffled after the door shut, and the boy stood dripping in the entryway. The bag under his arm looked waterproof, at least, which he started to unzip.

Whatever Kise might have expected to emerge, the squishy and bloody object in the boy's hand hadn't been it. He recoiled and nearly tripped over the step in the hallway. "What is _that?_ " 

The boy's glance lowered, unperturbed, to regard the disgusting… whatever he held. "Liver, I think." He didn't specify from what, which was probably for the best.

Kise craned his neck, nostrils flaring as the subtle scent of blood reached him. His eyes narrowed and when he spoke his tone was armored in suspicion. "And who is the recipient of this… package?"

"Kise Kaori-san."

The confirmation speared him straight through. He actually staggered, then covered his face in horror while bemoaning into his hands, "Who does she think she is?" _First of all_ , his thoughts tumbled over each other, _the name!_ Practically sharing a face was bad enough, but if she went around claiming the same name as well, there was no way the media would leave that alone if they caught even the slightest possible hint of it. To say nothing of the _organs being delivered to his house._ "That crazy—" He curbed his outburst at the last second with a swallow that almost choked him, and peeked between his fingers, but the boy was unfazed.

All he said was, "Will you be paying for it?"

"No." Kise pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes at the sight of the soaked boy, somehow more pitiable for his lack of overt attempts to garner sympathy. "…Is what I want to say, but all right, give me a minute." He reluctantly accepted the liver, cold and slippery through its thin wrapping, and the soft give of it under his fingers made his skin crawl. His abject disgust was painfully clear as he carried it into the kitchen, held at an awkward arm's length away the whole time, and deposited it in the refrigerator. He'd have trashed it immediately but then it would have just stunk up the house.

When Kise returned it was with both his wallet and a towel which he promptly draped over the boy's head. "Here."

"Thank you," the boy said politely, eyes hidden under terrycloth as he patted his face. His complexion was abnormally pale, and his breathing, Kise noted in between counting off bills, was a little bit labored.

He glanced outside where the weather showed no sign of abating. "You're not in a hurry, are you?"

The towel slipped down to the boy's shoulders, his hair comically spiked up from the toweling. "Not immediately."

"Why don't you wait until the storm's over then? You'll catch your death out there."

That, for some reason, made the boy look away. The soft noise he made sounded like a chuckle. "…Okay. Thank you for the kind offer." The show of inexplicable humor was short-lived, there and gone again, so ephemeral Kise might have imagined it.

He only realized he was staring when he noticed the boy staring right back. He quickly dropped his attention to his hands, found that he'd lost count of the money he owed for the delivery, and started over with a warm tingle under his skin that wasn't completely unpleasant. "Come on," he said, taking the boy by the elbow once he'd paid. "I'll get you something dry to wear. I'm Kise Ryouta, by the way."

"Kuroko. Nice to meet you."

#

"You work _where?_ " Kise's glass hit the table with a disbelieving thunk, his jaw almost joining it. "They hired a _kid_ at a _bar?_ "

Ice cracked and shifted in the tea, and from across the table Kuroko wore a tiny frown. "Please don't call me a kid." Despite his protest he looked the part, especially in the oversized tee and drawstring pants he'd had to roll up at the ankles so they didn't drag on the floor. Kise had been tall even in junior high.

"If you say so," was Kise's dubious reply. He tucked his chin in his hand and watched the traces of annoyance linger on Kuroko's expression. It wasn't a particularly beautiful or striking face—if anything, it was plain and unmemorable—but the rare glimpse of emotion under the placid surface caught his attention the way water caught the light. Kise didn't even care that he was staring anymore, having found his entertainment for an otherwise dull evening. The storm had ceased with its thunderous lightshow, but the rain was still coming down hard, drumming along with the background noise of an evening drama on TV because Kise wasn't in the habit of focusing on only one thing at a time. "Hey, what kind of bar serves raw liver? And delivers it to the door, no less."

The look Kuroko leveled on him was flatter ever, and gave Kise the niggling impression that he was being judged—which was just unfair, because the whole thing was rightfully bizarre, and he said as much.

"Like you're one to talk," Kuroko said, and took a small sip of his tea. He drank so sparingly Kise wondered if he had only accepted the glass out of politeness. Weird kid. Kind of creepy, too. And a little exasperating.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The table wasn't very big, so if Kise felt like it (and he did), he could lean over until their faces were less than a hand's span apart.

Kuroko failed to be intimidated, round eyes blinking slowly, betraying not even the slightest twitch or hint of color in his cheeks. Truly exasperating. He smelled good, though; different, not at all blending with the familiar scents of the house, set apart even from Kaori's smoke-and-incense trademark. This was very much foreign, something else entirely, and Kise wasn't aware he was closing in until a palm to his forehead stopped him just short of the white expanse of Kuroko's throat. "That's what I mean." Reproachfully, Kuroko pressed until Kise sank back down on his side of the table.

"…Sorry." His blood pounded in his ears, heat rising to his face, and he swallowed. "Um. That was just… I'm sorry." The line of his gaze wavered, but couldn't be convinced to find safety in a more innocuous sight.

For his part, Kuroko only gave a mild sigh, composed in a way that no teenager had any right to be. Except—Kise was beginning to realize with a queer, fluttery feeling in his gut—the boy probably wasn't that young after all. "It's all right," Kuroko said, lacing his fingers together around his glass and gazing contemplatively into the liquid. "I understand you can't help what you are. Sometimes our appetites get the best of us. I hear that foxes in particular tend to get, ah, carried away. In the material world."

There it was. The fluttering ceased, going abruptly still and leaving a conspicuously empty hole in the vicinity of his stomach. Kise crumpled over for lack of better response. He covered his head and mumbled into the wood grain of the table. "How did you know…?"

"Observation."

"Is it obvious?"

"Depends. Most humans wouldn't notice, but most foxes would take better care to hide it. You must be young."

"And how old are _you_ supposed to be?"

"A century and a half. Approximately." 

Kise laughed into his arms, shoulders shaking, because of course. _Of course._ "Ah," he said, pushing a hand through his hair and propping his face up to look Kuroko in the eye, smiling crookedly. "Well, that's not much compared to 900." Or however much a fox's lifespan was supposed to be; Kaori was evasive whenever he asked, or offended when her age in particular was mentioned.

Not missing a beat, Kuroko replied, "And 900 isn't much compared to eternity."

"That long?" He already had trouble wrapping his brain around the concept of centuries, time enough to watch civilizations go up and come down, for the world to change. What would he do with that much time? The only thing he could say with certainty was, "I wouldn't want that at all."

Kuroko shrugged and said nothing. Maybe it hadn't been a choice. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it.

Nonetheless, Kise pressed: "Isn't that too lonely?"

Seconds ticked by while Kuroko appeared to ponder over the question. Or he could be ignoring Kise entirely. _Hey, you,_ Kise was about to say when Kuroko finally responded in an blasé tone, "I suppose if I ever get tired of it I can always throw myself down on a stake."

"Throw yourself down… on…" 

"Or some other sufficiently pointy object." When all Kise did was stare at him, unblinking, Kuroko needlessly added, "That's how it's supposed to work with vampires." He took a measured sip of his tea. 

"…You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Kise accused when he found his voice again.

"What makes you think that?" Guileless was a good look on him; not too forced, more frank than innocent. His was a face that didn't mold easily or readily. Wouldn't be good for Kise's line of work, but perhaps useful for poker. Little changed on the surface. Underneath, though, that could be a different story. 

"Just a hunch." He let his gaze drift from the smooth curve of a cheek to the slope of neck that had drawn him in before, and down further to paired collarbones visible above the loose line the borrowed shirt. Kise thought maybe he was beginning to understand the appeal of boyfriend fashion among girls—although even in Kise's too-big clothes, Kuroko was far from girly. His body retained traces of that phase all boys went through; coltish youth clinging to his bones, not quite filled out, not quite grown, but more graceful than he should be at that stage. Chalked up to experience, probably, having over a century to get used to the unfinished shape.

Kise amended his previous assessment: there was nothing plain about Kuroko at all. A supernatural background explained some of the strangeness, but it was a bit more than that.

"Vampire, huh?" Kise's attention wandered until it came to rest on a closed, soft-looking mouth. "Liquid diet and everything?"

"Yes."

He hummed absently. "I didn't notice any teeth." And with skin that pale, Kuroko must not see much (if any) sunlight.

"It would be trouble if you did."

Darkness and a ghostly full moon would suit him, though. "I suppose."

Kuroko shifted in his seat. "Kise-kun, you're doing it again."

"Doing what?" The rebuke didn't fully register until he met Kuroko's straightforward gaze. "…Oh. Sorry." No mortified blush this time—as Kuroko had said, there were some things he couldn't help, and that included attraction. The people who caught his eye did not always meet industry-standard beauty, but they were surely always worthwhile. 

"It's instinct," Kaori had once said, all glittering gold eyes and secretive, vulpine smile. "Just because it looks plain on the outside doesn't mean it isn't tasty. Isn't that right, Asa-tan?" All the while Kise had covered his eyes and yelled things like: _stop dropping by unannounced!_ ; _don't hit on my mom in front of me!_ ; and, _stupid fox, you're warping my development!_

The real aggravation was that Kaori was so often right.

Kise reluctantly closed his eyes, figuring that was the best way to stave off temptation. "You don't have to worry, it's not like I'm going to eat you or anything."

"…That's fine, but what about you?"

"Eh?"

"For all you know, I could be the one thinking about eating you." 

Kise's eyes popped open. "Eeeh?! W-wait, you're joking?"

"Yes."

It took a heart-pounding moment for that to sink in. Then Kise deflated, cheek coming to rest on the table. "You have a cruel sense of humor." He tilted his head to peer up at Kuroko's face through his lashes. "Do you, really? Eat people, that is. Drink their blood. Whatever."

He had enough faith in his own judgment to guess at the answer, but a weighty pause followed.

"Not recently," Kuroko finally said.

"Um—" Kise began, but that was when the power cut out and plunged the house in darkness, erasing the drone of the TV and the hum of the A/C. Only the rain pattering upon the roof and walls could be heard. Faint light could be detected through the window, showing that the streetlights were still functioning. "Um," Kise said again. 

Fortunately his night vision was above average, and he rose up from the table smoothly. "Wait here. I'll go find a flashlight or something." His phone was in his pocket, but he'd rather not waste its battery with that paltry light.

"Kise-kun." Fingers touched his arm and Kise clapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his shriek. His wide eyes landed on a Kuroko-shaped silhouette that had appeared right in front of him.

Lowering his hand, Kise hissed, "Make some _noise_ , why don't you!"

"Please get down." Kuroko didn't wait for Kise to comply, pulling hard at his shoulder, and that alone wouldn't have been enough to make him budge except for the foot also sweeping under his leg and gravity did the rest.

He hit the floor hard, air rushing out of him with a half-formed, "wha—" as Kuroko also ducked and the shatter-crash of glass made them both freeze.

Shards sprinkled the floor below the window, joined by something heavier and clunkier that rolled around while spraying a cloudy gas. At first Kise could only stare, comprehension warring with disbelief. Then the smell hit, sickeningly sweet, and he held his breath without having to be told. He scooted away, staying low in case something else came flying through the window, and at his side Kuroko went tense before shooting up to his feet.

As soon as he was standing he intercepted the dark shape that had come rushing in, warding off one blow and ducking another. The third connected and he stumbled back a step with a choked-off wheeze, but held his ground.

Kise stared, more incredulous than assured, let alone impressed. _Why the hell are you playing hero when you're that weak?!_

The sight was too pitiful to watch. Kise pushed himself up, but whatever half-formed plan he might have nurtured went to flimsy pieces as his lungs ached for air. He pressed his nose and mouth to his sleeve, but it was hard to tell whether the rolling wave of dizziness was from the gas or lack of oxygen. _Thump_ went his back against the wall, sliding down, head lolling to the side to see the gas had spread and most likely enveloped them now. The pervasive odor turned his stomach and his throat threatened to close around where the taste was beginning to stick, but a creeping numbness made it difficult to swallow.

_No way…_

A thud drew his attention to where Kuroko had dropped to hands and knees, no less affected. The stranger, on the other hand, remained standing. 

"Hey. Is this really the one…?" The voice was distorted. Squinting up, it appeared that the lower portion of the person's face was covered with a mask. Long, messy blond hair hung over his eyes and his head was tilted quizzically.

A second masked figure appeared with a dispassionate expression, and where Kuroko had been placid this was just chillingly _empty_. "No mistake."

"If you say so… What about the other?"

"Collateral. His own fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We're just doing our job."

 _Gee, thanks._ The dull bloom of pain in his side was what clued him in to the fact he'd fallen over. Kuroko, too, had finally collapsed, entire body limp.

The toe of someone's shoe prodded Kise in the ribs. "Check it out, he's still awake."

"He's probably not a vampire then."

"Huh." Prod, prod. Kise would have had a few choice words to say if he wasn't paralyzed. His head was still clear enough, although he wasn't too sure that was going to be a good thing in the long run, especially when the next thing he heard was: "Can we take him, too? Might be a good meal later."

"Fine. You have to carry him, though."

"Yeah, yeah, you'll thank me when you get hungry."

 _Damnit,_ Kise thought as he was pulled up with frightening strength. _I don't want it to end like this…_

#

Kuroko came to with a literal jolt, bouncing upon the hard floor and rolling up against something warm. He suppressed his startled flinch and maintained the steady cadence of his breathing, body relaxed as if still asleep while taking stock of his predicament.

His head felt fuzzy but he recalled what had happened without too much trouble. The first image that popped into his mind was the picture-perfect face of a far too inquisitive fox with little regard for boundaries. Kuroko mentally frowned and shoved on with the memory. The power outage had sent red flags up every which way, and he'd seen something being hurled at the window in time to duck. He'd been too cautious to make an immediate run for it (which might have saved him from the gas), but vampires weren't invulnerable and a heart riddled with bullets was just as fatal as a heart impaled by a stake. His caution had been warranted at the time.

After all, he'd assumed hunters at first, a vampire's natural enemy, and they rarely had reason to capture their prey alive. Still, his reactions had been slow and sloppy, his attention divided because—no, that wasn't the issue here, and there was no use worrying about what couldn't be changed. He'd succumbed to the gas (spelled, almost certainly), but not before clocking the fact that the attackers weren't human. That led to a whole host of possibilities much more complicated than, "hunters doing hunter things."

For now he was still alive and more or less unharmed. His wrists were tied behind his back, tight enough that his fingers had gone numb, with what felt like very strong rope. Little chance of breaking free, then. Even when decently fed his strength wasn't that much greater than an average human's. Besides his wrists, his ankles were similarly bound. No gag, though.

He didn't sense any light beyond his eyelids, and the rumble of an engine explained the faint vibration of the floor, warm and metal under his cheek. The air was stale and hot. He was damp all over—from being carried through the rain, no doubt.

A thud and a bump jostled Kuroko again. A familiar voice sighed out from nearby, "That has to be the sixth pothole…"

Chances of immediate danger: low. Kuroko cracked his eyes open. As expected, the interior was dark, but he was made for nocturnal activities anyway, and could confirm he was in the back of a truck. It was small for a trailer, and empty of any other cargo. He rolled onto his other side so we was facing Kise, who had propped himself up against the wall and was also tied hand and foot.

"Oh, you're awake. Good morning."

"…How long has it been?" He didn't think that much time had passed, and daylight fatigue wasn't creeping up on him yet.

"Not too long. Hard to say from in here, though. Less than an hour?"

He didn't have to worry about the sun anytime soon, then. Unless they were in for a long, long drive.

 _Really_ , Kuroko berated himself, rocking along with the motion of the truck, _that was careless of me._ He'd grown complacent, that much was obvious. In the past he would have heeded his own instincts better, having had plenty of reason to be careful even to the point of paranoia, and just because he'd put certain things behind him didn't mean they were all content to stay that way. Time didn't pass as quickly for him as it did for humans; in his world, people had very long memories, and actions had far-reaching effects. Furthermore, he'd gotten someone else involved…

"So," Kise began, impressively composed despite the circumstances, "any idea how to get out of here? I'd rather not be snacked on tonight, just so we're clear."

If Kuroko were alone, that would be one thing. An opportunity might present itself, and he'd gotten out of similar situations before. However, the fox's addition complicated things in a way he wasn't accustomed to. He gazed up at Kise, factoring in the healthy, athletic build, and what seemed to be a cool head at least for the moment. "You've manifested as an avatar, haven't you?"

"Er?"

That likely meant yes. "A fox born into a physical human body. Eats, drinks, and sleeps like a human. Gets sick like a human. Has limited spiritual capabilities."

"Yeah, that sounds pretty accurate."

"You're useless, then."

"Hey!"

So he couldn't count on any fox magic to help him out. Kuroko hadn't expected much aid from that quarter in the first place.

The two who had attacked the house were probably the only ones in the front cab. There might be a third. There might be any number of people waiting at their destination. But they'd already shown that they weren't inclined to kill him. He could work with that.

Kuroko tested the ropes again, but the knots were secure and unreachable. "First, let's get untied."

"That'd be nice." Kise winced, shifting around. "Too bad I don't have anything sharp on me."

"I do."

Kise brightened for a moment. "Really?"

Kuroko clicked his teeth together.

"…Oh. Right."

"Turn around, please."

He complied, and Kuroko scrunched in close until he could reach Kise's bound wrists. It took some concentration to encourage the fangs to slip out without fresh blood to trigger the response. Zeroing in on the pulse of constrained veins helped, and he leaned in to delicately set the tips of his canines into the rope. They sank into the tough fibers, but unfortunately they weren't made for sawing, and chewing and tugging was diligent work.

All the while Kise's fingers would graze his throat and then flutter away, apologetic, but there wasn't anywhere else for them to go so they'd invariably come back to brush under his chin. Again and again. Kuroko arched away from the distraction, breathing hard (from the sweltering heat inside the truck, from being knocked out, from the faint throb of blood hiding just under a thin layer of sweat-damp skin). He closed his eyes and steadied himself for a moment, trying not to give into the urge to simply rest his dizzy head.

At least he wasn't starving. It was best to look on the bright side of things. He reminded himself of this, then readied his fangs and buried them into the grooves of the knot, giving a fierce yank, forehead pressed into the dip of Kise's back. The moisture collected in his mouth went dry with the taste of polyester, but gradually the braided stands began to snap and loosen. The knot came undone, and Kuroko spat aside a hank of fibers, relieved on multiple levels as he rolled to put some space between them. Kise wriggled free of the loops.

"Thanks. Here, my turn." Without bothering to do his own feet first he went to work on Kuroko's hands, only he didn't have the advantage of a strong set of curved and pointed teeth to quicken the process. 

Kuroko waited patiently on the floor. He tensed when he felt the truck slow down, but instead of coming to a stop it veered right and continued on.

"I wonder where they're taking us. Any idea?" Kise posed the question curiously, with no hint of accusation although Kuroko wouldn't have blamed him if he felt that way.

"None," he answered, the simple truth.

"I take it we're going to escape once we're there?"

"Yes." Optimistically speaking.

"What if they gas us again?"

"Then we'll use Plan B."

"Which is?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"That's not reassuring!" A harsh twist of the rope chafed Kuroko's skin, followed immediately by a worried flutter. "Ah, sorry, sorry..."

"It's fine." Even if his wrists were rubbed raw they would heal in a matter of minutes. They still hurt, but that was a minor inconvenience. More importantly, what _if_ their captors erred on the side of caution and knocked them out again?

"Wait, I know just—" Kise paused, one hand disappearing into his pocket. "Damnit, no good, I lost my phone on the way out."

Kuroko wasn't too broken up about it. The cops or any other conventional means wouldn't have been any help in the first place.

"Geez, this could have been so easily fixed if—whatever, this plan of yours had better work."

 _Don't bet on it_ , Kuroko almost said, but—bright side, right.

"Almost... got it! Hah!"

"Thank you." He pushed himself up and rolled his aching shoulders, rubbing the feeling back into his hands. His ankles were too far to reach with his teeth, so he set to work picking apart the knot with blunt fingers while Kise did the same.

He was still wearing the borrowed clothes, Kuroko realized during the process. The excess fabric offered some padding under the rope before swallowing his feet. That would have to go if he was going to attempt any daring escapes. When the knot weakened he pulled the rest apart, then caught up a trailing pant cuff and asked for the sake of manners, "Is it all right if I tear this off?"

"Hmm? Oh, sure. That would help, wouldn't it?" The corners of Kise's mouth quirked up in what was definitely a smirk at Kuroko's expense.

Kuroko ripped apart the cloth with perhaps a bit more fervor than was necessary. Not everyone could be a picturesque blond with legs that went on for miles, who had an annoying ( _typically_ fox-like) penchant for temptation that could be counted on to make eternally teenaged vampires uncomfortable.

He stood up just as the truck lurched over another pothole, and that wouldn't have been so bad, keeping upright with his arms stuck out for balance, except it also bumped Kise into his legs and that had the domino effect of tumbling them both over. Kuroko landed hip to floor and head to door, _bang_ , cue stars. Kise was tangled up with his legs, and Kuroko may or may not have socked him in the face with his knee. One or both of them groaned in pain, and then went abruptly silent as the truck swayed to a stop and the engine sputtered off.

Kuroko wasted no time shoving Kise's weight off of him, glancing down to see that no, Kise hadn't gotten his feet untied yet. "Stay down," he advised, fighting his splitting headache to stagger upright and stand by the door.

One after the other, he heard both cab doors open and slam shut. A pair of voices drew nearer to the back.

"...worn off already."

"Doesn't matter, stand back."

The handle clicked and began to turn. The door opened a crack, and Kuroko slammed the heel of his palm against the panel to send it swinging into the face of whoever was on the other side. He was already holding his breath by the time he registered the hiss of gas. Door-opener was catching his balance, eyes wide beneath a shag of bleached fringe while he frantically adjusted the face mask that had been knocked askew. Kuroko knew opportunity when he saw it and divested him of the problem—in the literal sense, making a grab for the mask as if his life depended on it and jamming it over his own nose and mouth. 

The de-masked man scrabbled at him, pulling him from the truck. Kuroko didn't bother putting up any resistance, but he did aim to land rather hard on the instigator and heard a satisfying wheeze upon impact. He removed his elbow from a heaving abdomen and rolled off. The man gasped some more, but did not get up, head tilting limp to the side and eyes fluttering in a daze. One down.

As soon Kuroko looked up to see the second man looming through a gaseous cloud, a thump sounded from within the truck. Its weight dipped, and the man didn't even have time to whip his head around before Kise's foot connected with the back of his skull in what Kuroko had to admit was a beautifully executed flying kick. The man dropped like a stone while Kise landed in a crouch next to him, swiping his mask and taking a deep, safe breath of filtered air.

When he stood up and turned to Kuroko, the corners of his eyes crinkled (albeit the right one looked like it was already turning puffy and bruising dark). "How was that?"

"It worked," Kuroko said instead of, "perfect," though both were true. He bent to investigate the men's pockets, fishing out a set of keys, some cash, a lottery ticket, and a half-empty packet of gum. No forms of ID.

"'Worked'? That's it?"

He kept the keys and left the rest. "Let's go."

"So cold, Kurokocchi… after all we've just been through together…"

Kuroko ignored him and went to pull open the cab's front door, peeling off the mask once he was seated behind the wheel. The narrow road that stretched ahead and behind was empty; they'd stopped in the middle of nowhere, which he supposed he should be thankful for. He checked the glove compartment, but it was mostly full of useless junk—except for two more gas grenades. Kuroko carefully extracted them to examine more closely later.

The passenger door clicked open and Kise slid in with a curious expression. "You can drive this thing?"

"More or less." He could drive, at any rate, not that he possessed a current license to prove it. It wasn't exactly hard; turn key, shift gear, step on pedal, go. Although the truck suddenly seemed bigger than he first thought, he would admit.

Kise's hum _sounded_ impressed, but Kuroko still side-eyed him as he made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. "Know where we're going?"

"…"

The fox's grin was white in the moonlight. "Not to worry! I remember the way."

"…"

"What's with that skeptical silence?" Kise pouted. He leaned closer, and Kuroko had nowhere to go. The black eye should have done more to ruin this effect, but apparently foxes could work around little imperfections like that. "Come on, I'm not _useless_ , after all."

"Okay," Kuroko agreed, because the other option was, "Please stay on that end of the seat or I will crash your side of the vehicle into a tree." He inserted the key in the ignition and added, "Fasten your seatbelt, Kise-kun," which had the fortunate effect of removing the distraction from Kuroko's personal space.

"Hey," Kise spoke up once he was fastened in place. "Are we going to do anything about them…?"

Peering into a side mirror, Kuroko could make out an outstretched arm connected to a body that disappeared from view behind the truck. "I could back over them," he suggested.

"You… could do that, yes."

It was the surest way. The safest way. The wheels would pulverize their hearts and a lot more, leaving nothing but an added layer of dust coating the road. They certainly weren't going to do him much good alive.

Kuroko shifted out of park and the truck began to roll. Beside him, Kise made no protest. Then the truck pulled forward, swung off-road in an arc around the bodies, and drove silently past them. 

He kept an eye on the mirrors, checking to see if they showed any signs of moving. Maybe if they did he'd shift into reverse right then and there. But, of course, nothing happened. Soon he came to the turn and went left.

 _I thought you'd learned to heed your instincts better._ The voice in his head was cool and thinly amused, opposite of the heavy, judgmental thud-thump of Kuroko's heart.

If he encountered those two again later, they weren't likely to be grateful. They weren't likely to understand. He didn't fully understand it, himself.

_Do as you like, Tetsuya._

"I will," he'd said back then, along with a sincere, "thank you."

_But you won't make it that way._

"I will," Kuroko repeated, mouthing the words quietly to himself.

"Did you say something, Kurokocchi?"

"Nothing." His eyes were fixed on the road, stretching endlessly in the dark past the beam of headlights. However, he wasn't doing much better than the previous driver at avoiding the potholes. "…Kise-kun."

"Nn?"

"What's 'Kurokocchi'?"

"A nickname! Isn't it cute?"

"…Don't use it."

"Eh, why not?!"

#

The truck's tank of gas was mostly full, but that only gave Kise the idea to drive all the way back to the city.

"You expect me to go back to that house and sleep soundly all night after what just happened?!"

Kuroko couldn't in good conscious shut down his line of reasoning. They stopped at the house just to retrieve some belongings (and Kise's memory for direction was without fault—irritatingly so). Kuroko got his own clothes back and Kise gratefully dove for his phone on the floor of the living room, proceeding to make what sounded like a very awkward call to his mother once they started in the truck again.

"…and so, uh, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea for you to stay in Sapporo for a while longer… yes, I mean, the window needs to be replaced, but I cleaned up the glass… I'll be fine, you know where I'll be—no, there's no need to—Kaori-san, please, I don't— _no_ , thank you, I'm hanging up!" Kise slumped in his seat, broadcasting his sulk through pout and long-suffering sigh.

"You get along with your parents very well," Kuroko finally spoke after a prudent silence, moved in spite of himself by the display of Kise's concern in warning them. _That's only natural,_ he reminded himself, unnaturally.

"I guess," Kise demurred. He could afford that doubt out of privilege, but Kuroko couldn't really hold it against him. It was a while before Kise raised his voice again, inquiring with a different kind of hesitance, "Do you… remember your own parents?"

"Not at all." Awkwardness ballooned in the space between them. From the corner of his eye Kuroko could see Kise's face perform acrobatics in a struggle to come up with an appropriate reply. "It doesn't matter," Kuroko said, generously putting Kise out of his misery. "I never had any memory of them to begin with."

"Can't miss what you never had? Or something like that."

"Or something," Kuroko agreed. Upon reflection, "never," might have been an exaggeration; he could conjure up remnants the long-ago past, foggy and fleeting, but he could no longer tell if they were genuine memories or fabricated what-ifs. Mostly, he remembered Akashi. There had been people before that, faces and names all afloat in a faded photograph of recollection, but none as distinctive as Akashi's scarlet memory.

_"I'm curious about him, though. He could be hiding a unique ability."_

#

"Home at last," Kise sighed, tapping in the security code to unlock the door. His shoulders slumped and he was weary to the bone, somehow more tired after catching a quick catnap during the drive. He was used to sneaking sleep in between school and work, or work and more work, but usually the only things he had to worry about then were passing a test or smudging his makeup. Fearing for his life, though, that was new.

The sights and sounds of the city were a comfort, much preferred over the lone road and night-shrouded fields stretching out to either side. There was no shortage of activity and light in Roppongi at this hour—especially at this hour.

Not that Kise had any intention of going out anytime soon, and thank God his morning schedule was already cleared. Actually, considering the state of his face, he was in for a _lovely_ talk with his manager tomorrow regarding the rest of his upcoming activities. If not for his head already being in enough pain he'd have banged it against the wall.

"Please excuse me."

Kise was too tired to do more than tense at Kuroko's intonation at his side. _How the hell did I forget about him? He's right there!_ It had taken repeated offers and extended descriptions of worst-case what-if scenarios to convince Kuroko to come home with him.

"I don't want to trouble you," Kuroko had said, firmly at first. "It wouldn't be safe." He never explicitly admitted to have been the source of the evening's events, and Kise never bothered to blame him.

"I live in the safest place in Tokyo," Kise had claimed instead. "Trust me on this."

In the end, Kise suspected Kuroko caved more to the sheer wave of persistence than to any kind of reason, but the result was all that mattered.

"Make yourself at home," he said, keeping his voice low and explaining, "I live with a roommate who's either asleep or out having a better night than me. If you run into him he _probably_ won't kill you on sight. Unless you startle him. I'll let him know about you and your creepy little vanishing act. No offense."

"None taken."

"You can sleep here." Kise opened the door to the spare bedroom. A glance inside confirmed that it was as unused as ever. "Bathroom's the next door over. Can I get you anything to—" _eat or drink,_ he stopped short of saying, since the only thing he could offer a vampire was himself and somehow he didn't think Kuroko would take him up on that.

"Thank you," Kuroko said, unfailingly polite as he stepped inside, "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Kise couldn't help but tease, leaning one arm against the doorframe. Normally the top of Kuroko's head came just up to his nose, and he bent until they were almost eye level. "You're not going to eat me in the middle of the night, are you?"

He expected a dry comment or a flat "no," so the door slamming shut in his face and almost taking his fingers off came as a bit of a surprise. "Unlikely," Kuroko said after a pause on the other side.

"Thought so." Kise hung his head, but he was smiling. "Goodnight, then."

The answering, "goodnight," was nearly inaudible.

Kise straightened up and stretched. He headed for the kitchen to get some ice for his eye (which hurt like hell and if he thought too hard about what it must look like he might cry), but first made what was intended to be a short detour to check the master bedroom. Sure enough, a familiar sprawl of limbs were taking up more than their fair share of the mattress, and half the covers were dumped on the floor with a lone sheet remaining to twist around a naked waist. Aomine's arm curled around his pillow, breathing deep and slow and untroubled. He got as much sleep as a cat did, and that indolence never entirely vanished, but he was most awake—most alive—when on the hunt.

Kise hadn't been lying about living in the safest place in Tokyo.

He watched silently from the doorway for a moment, equal parts envious of Aomine's peaceful slumber and undeniably relieved just to see him there, so strongly present even in this state. Kise forgot whatever else he meant to do and padded inside, stripping down to his skin and fixing the bedding because Aomine's solution to dealing with the heat was to crank the A/C all the way up, paying no mind to Kise's electric bill (which he only helped pay once in a blue moon). That was fine, though. All Kise had to do was curl up against Aomine's back, rubbing his cheek in the crook of Aomine's neck and leeching his warmth. 

Aomine could sleep like the dead sometimes, often when it was inconvenient. Other times, he was too easy too wake up (also when inconvenient).

"Nnh, Kise?" He shifted, shoulder pressing back but not quite mustering the energy to turn his head. "Whassit? Wanna do it?"

He considered, but only briefly before sighing and going lax. "Ask me again in the morning. Sleep now."

"It's hot," Aomine complained, but didn't try to shove Kise off.

"You turned this place into an icebox. Shut up. Go back to sleep."

"Aah?" Still too sluggish to bother rolling over, all he did instead was raise his voice and upgrade to stringing together coherent sentences. "Who pulled your tail? I know this time it wasn't me."

Oh, where to start?

_You would not believe the night I've had. I went out to the sticks for my mom's birthday and got nothing but trouble. First, I was rained on. Why is being rained on so unpleasant all the time when it's just water? And I found out my mother-who-is-also-my-father-but-I-don't-want-to-think-about-those-logistics is having organs delivered to my other mom's house (and my other mom, who is usually the more normal of the two, may be fannishly obsessing over me or at least my career and that's awkward)._

_Then I was kidnapped by two creeps who wanted to eat me, and not in the sexy way. I kind of want you to kill them for me since Kurokocchi didn't finish the job. Kurokocchi was the bright spot of the evening, even if he did knee me in the eye. You're going to laugh, aren't you? You are, you suck, and my face hurts. And please don't stake Kurokocchi, I wouldn't mind him snacking on me in the sexy way or vice-versa. Aominecchi could watch._

"Well," Kise began, gearing up with a deep breath and an unrepentant whine at the ready, only to be circumvented by a soft snore. Jaw dropping, he jostled his bed partner's shoulder. "Aominecchi!"

But Aomine was thoroughly engaged in sleep-like-the-dead mode. Nothing short of the apocalypse or Horikita Mai doing a strip tease in this very room would wake him now.

"I can't believe you," Kise huffed. He considered rolling Aomine off the bed, but knowing him he'd drag all the covers down with him, even in an unconscious state, for no logical reason except that he existed to make life difficult.

Denied a more satisfying alternative, Kise grumbled but remained where he was, hugging the heat of Aomine's body and nosing the nape of Aomine's neck. He smelled like he'd recently taken a bath. Strange that he wasn't out restlessly prowling the streets like he had been doing every other night.

Still, this was good. Better than coming home to an empty apartment. He could drop the whole kidnapping matter into Aomine's lap in the morning; it would give him something to do besides stalk every dark corner of the city. For now Kise had nothing to worry about, no fear of intruders lurking in the shadows, wrapped as he was around Tokyo's most infamous hunter who was obliviously drooling away on his pillow.


	3. overtime with no pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which mistakes are made and a vampire is more than he seems

To his credit, Kuroko tried to sleep. He made a heroic attempt, and by all rights he should have been out the moment his head sunk onto the pillow, soft and clean-smelling with the promise of rest and peaceful dreams. He had every reason to be exhausted. Any day that started during actual daylight hours took a toll on him, and that was in addition to the stress of sharing space with a young fox who didn't know any better (or perhaps, more terrifyingly, he did know, but Kuroko liked to believe he was a positive thinker). Not to the mention the kidnapping adventure which greedily occupied the bulk of his troubled thoughts.

Kuroko stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, unable to cease the what-if threads that spun endless webs in his mind. He'd lived a long time and met a lot of people. He'd done a lot of things. Shifting uneasily, he found that those factors left him disconcertingly open to a lot of connections from a lot of angles. Ideas formed then fell away the moment he took a closer look, only to start accumulating again shortly after, paranoia hooking tiny little claws in him but never with any conviction. 

Every once in a while an image popped into his head: two prone, unmoving figures lying in the darkness, left behind by the rumble of the truck. Two witnesses, two culprits, most likely alive and able enough to find him again.

He breathed in and out slowly, willing away the shadows creeping into every nook and cranny of his thoughts. Kuroko reasoned: even if he had taken that extra precaution, he'd still be in this very same position, anxious and awake and aching under the weight of a burden bearing down on his heart if not his head.

Admittedly, it was a bit of a lose-lose situation.

So with an air of resignation he slipped out of the bed, easily finding his way through the dim, windowless room, and paused only to listen by the door before turning the knob without a sound. From there he ghosted out—not towards the exit, not yet, but into an open living-dining area.

While Kise's house outside the city had been comfortably traditional, the Roppongi apartment was economically modern… or at least, it was intended to be so. The sleek, clean lines of minimal styling were offset by a smattering of clutter that spoke of careless familiarity. Multiple days' worth of mail dusted the glass dining table, along with an mp3 player, a pair of sunglasses, and a half-empty bag of chips. The L-shaped couch was home to haphazard pillows that looked used to taking beatings, a remote control on its way to being buried under the seat of the chaise, and an open magazine that was draped across the arm. As far as decoration of the more intended variety, sparse art adorned the walls like the awkward afterthoughts they were, though they looked to be original paintings rather than prints. Adding to the incongruity, a glimpse of the balcony revealed the puzzling sight of plant life thriving in a medium-sized box despite the location. 

Abundant curiosities, but all irrelevant.

Kuroko drifted further into the room, head turning as he scoped out the space and catalogued everything contained within it. His gaze finally landed on the stretch of wall where a dry erase board hung, well-used by various hands, and perfectly suitable for his needs.

He uncapped a black marker and put the tip of it to the bottom part of the board that remained untouched. A brief note of thanks, a small apology for leaving without saying goodbye—his contribution was simple and plain next to the colorful personalities of Kise and his friends, out of place like the abstract oil painting above the messy couch.

Kuroko's hand hovered over the words that marked his presence, contemplating them, how easily they could be erased and forgotten. Although he had the feeling Kise wouldn't forget very easily. He told himself that was the best reason for sneaking out quietly. He left his message as it was, for what it was worth, and leaving intentional traces behind was so novel a practice for him that maybe there was some worth to it after all.

#

Nights were short at this time of year, and Kuroko could feel the sun's imminent approach sapping strength from his already depleted stores. The sky had not yet lightened, but it would soon, and the city would come alive with it while other creatures shrunk back into their meager shadows. He would have much liked to do the same, but he was technically still on the clock, and at the very least he should stop by the bar to let Seto know he was still alive. They were both aware of the risks that came with the job—that came with simply _existing_ in their case—though if Kuroko had actually vanished and never returned he doubted Seto would be more than mildly inconvenienced, and Kuroko himself was undisturbed by this state of things. Maintaining a professional distance was good. Easier. Much, much easier.

Still, checking in was the polite thing to do. He might even be able to sleep in the bar along with the few permanent customers (who were more like fixtures in the literal sense), which would save him from the trouble and embarrassment of passing out in the middle of the street on his way home. It had happened before. The worst part was that the helpless exposure always resulted in terrible sunburn—which, at the very least, was better than outright bursting into flames. Throughout all his long life, Kuroko had never seen such a thing happen to one of his kind without the aid of gasoline and a match. Some vampires these days hardly even felt the difference between night and day anymore. If only he could be so lucky.

An eternity later, he finally made it to After Dark's doorstep. The entrance was guarded as always by the same stoic young man who had yet to utter a single word in Kuroko's presence; vampire and werewolf exchanged greetings with a brief glance and a perfunctory sniff, respectively. If the wolf noticed anything odd about Kuroko's scent, some lingering magicked gas perhaps, he raised no alarm over it.

The bar was emptier than usual, owing to the nearness of dawn no doubt, and when Seto looked up his expression was curious, but affable. "Long night, I see."

"Yes. I apologize. There was no helping it." Kuroko didn't offer anything else, employer or not, there was no full disclosure clause in their contract. Or much of a contract at all. The extent of their oral agreement had been, "run deliveries for rewards."

Seto shrugged, accepting the apology, and fetched a clean glass as well as a new bottle from the back. The red liquid inside was so dark it was nearly black, and the magic wafting from it once opened made Kuroko light-headed. "You look like you could use this," Seto said while pouring.

Kuroko's reasonable side advised that he should graciously decline. For one thing, the magicked blood was the priciest fare in the bar, and their first meeting notwithstanding, Seto wasn't known to be generous with it. There were customers who eked out every last one of their coins (or however they were paying, some of them could get creative) just for a taste. It was an imitation rush all of them had once experienced with the magic of being turned, but that was a one-time use deal. A vampire couldn't be changed twice. The only other way to feel that again was to feed from a sorcerer, and they weren't inclined to donate (although, apparently, there was profit to be had in this niche market).

Kuroko was more familiar with magicked blood than most. That was the main reason why he shouldn't—but the glass was right there in front of him, his teeth sharpening as he breathed in the scent, and the tight knot of anxiety that had been plaguing him for hours was swallowed up by a sudden, yawning _hunger_. He glanced at Seto, but the bartender was already busy with something else, completely unconcerned with him.

It had been a night of mistakes and near misses, and once again Akashi's words surfaced to gently remind him, _"You won't make it that way."_

Right now, refusing just to prove that he could seemed very childish. 

Kuroko tipped the glass back, bracing himself for the taste of pure power that hit with a jolt and crackled through his system. The more blood he drank down the lighter his body felt, less affected by the incoming glimmer of dawn, and his worries began to dissipate with relaxing ease. Relief flooded him with every soothing swallow. What remained of his strength was glad to collapse. Even his thoughts began to flee.

Alarm was an increasingly distant thing in his mind, but it made itself known with persistent little grabs—instinct, maybe—that finally made his throat close in protest. Kuroko sputtered, coughing, and dropped the glass. Blood spilled across the bar and dripped down to the floor, but there wasn't much of it left. Most of it was already working its spell inside him. He clung onto his concentration with all the desperation he could muster.

"Relax," Seto said, his form behind the counter blurring around the edges. He flicked out a damp washcloth and mopped up the spill without a care in the world. "It's not going to kill you. We wouldn't want this establishment to have that kind of reputation. Bad for business and all. I'm sure you understand."

Kuroko pushed away from the bar and managed to keep his feet, but only long enough to stumble over a chair. It was all he could do to catch himself on the nearby table. There was no way he could make it to the door.

"That's why," Seto continued his one-sided conversation, "it would have been better if Furuhashi and Hara succeeded. Thanks for letting them live, by the way. You're not a bad kid. This is nothing personal, you know."

It would have been better if it _was_ personal. Then Kuroko would at least have a clue. He slumped, all semblance of coordination slipping from his control, and not even the jarring sensation of falling down could free him from the spell's cocooning effect. 

A shadow fell across the floor as Seto vacated his position behind the bar and crouched within Kuroko's hazy field of vision. "You've had a long night, so sleep it off for a while."

If Akashi could see Kuroko's tally of mistakes in this one night alone, he'd be disappointed. Or maybe not. He wasn't the sort to gloat, but Kuroko could imagine the I-told-you-so anyway.

_"I've never once been wrong."_

Kuroko had known that all along. He shouldn't be surprised by facts that didn't change.

#

The sun shone brightly overhead, yesterday's storm long gone without leaving a single cloud behind. The rain had taken the oppressive heat along with it, to the relief of the entire city, and the park today was full of people taking advantage of the pleasant change of weather. Families spread picnics across the grass and dogs were walked along the shaded paths. A pair of joggers trotted past the bench where Momoi sat, quietly observing everything with her chin in her hands. There was a clump of teenagers nearby made up of mixed boys and girls, snacking on frozen treats and laughing together as they enjoyed their summer holiday. A nostalgic smile touched Momoi's face.

"Erm… excuse me?"

Momoi straightened up to meet a bashful gaze—which to the young man's credit, was trained on her face and not the cleavage exposed by her sundress. He wasn't bad-looking, either, but there was only politeness in her tone when she said, "Can I help you?"

"Ah, well… I was just wondering…"

She suppressed a sigh. "Yes?"

"Would you—I mean, are you busy?"

His face was completely red, and she couldn't be too annoyed with him. Letting him down gently, she said, "I'm afraid I am, but thank you."

"O-oh. Okay. I just thought—well, worth a shot, you know? Um, sorry for disturbing you!"

"Have a nice day," she said with a loose wave as the young man all but fled. 

She hadn't lied; Momoi _was_ busy in spite of her idle appearance. The carefree atmosphere of the park was unaffected by the fact that yet another person had gone missing just last week, from this very spot if her guess was on the mark (which it very often was).

The news reported that this was the third person, but according to Midorima's files it would be the fifth. Maybe the sixth by now. The sorcerer community had started to lock down and plug up any leaks now that it was painfully clear they were being targeted. Shunning outside help, they would handle their problems themselves, hence Midorima's involvement.

Momoi ground the toe of her sandal into the dirt under the bench, allowing for a single, teensy jab of envy, unbecoming as it was. She could only _dream_ of being a magistrate, those who were given the privilege of meting out the Conclave's judgment upon law-breakers. Not only did she lack the connections necessary to attain such a high-ranking position, but more importantly—and more regrettably—her skills were just plain inadequate. Her affinity for magic was average at best, and while her mundane methods could make up for that, investigation only accounted for part of a magistrate's responsibilities. Even if she could successfully locate every renegade there was, she didn't have the ability, the sheer firepower, to subdue them. In a perfect world she'd have help to complete the job, but thus far, Midorima was the only fellow sorcerer who humored her, and just barely at her insistence.

Frowning, Momoi slapped both sides of her face lightly, earning a few puzzled looks that she ignored. No time to feel sorry for herself, she came here for a reason. If nothing else, she was confident in her limited area of expertise, and not even Midorima could argue with her knack for info-gathering.

The most recent victim was Konoe Hikari, a 21-year-old student at Tokyo University. Originally hailing from Kyoto, her family line was famously ancient and well-respected, both in public and in more secret circles. She was bright, powerful, and being groomed to inherit her mother's position as Director of the Asian Branch. Since every branch director answered to the Conclave that governed over all sorcerers, this was news that could shake the whole community if it grew any bigger.

 _Midorin must be having a hard time of it._ Although Momoi didn't delude herself into thinking he'd be grateful for her help. He'd owe her a favor, though, and unlike a certain irresponsible hunter, Midorima could be counted on to repay a debt in full. Momoi hadn't gotten this far by letting chances slip by. She bent her thoughts back to the task on hand.

Konoe may have been the biggest fish, but the others were impressive as well. Equal ratio of men to women. The youngest was 16-years-old, oldest at 42. The first went missing sometime in March. No pattern to the disappearances that would indicate a cycle, which crossed out some possible motives but left too many others to consider. Since the case was being handled by a magistrate Momoi could be reasonably sure the perpetrator was human—anything else would be the guild's problem.

Momoi reached into her purse and lifted out a round compact. She was mindful while opening it, and kept the mirror close so no one would notice the odd sheen flashing across its surface, already spelled to react. Some preparations had to be made in advance since there was no way she could work properly out here in public. As a result, the spell wasn't as thorough as she would have liked, but it would get the job done. Konoe's family crest, though faint, was misted on the glass as proof that she'd been casting here. It was hard to determine how long ago with just this, but Momoi's research indicated that the last known sighting of the victim had been in this park. She'd narrowed that down further to this very spot tucked in between a cluster of maple trees that were the same type as the ones commonly grown at the Konoe residence in Kyoto. That little touch of home was all the sentiment an ambitious type like Konoe would allow.

Being as inconspicuous as she could, Momoi muttered the words to alter the focus of her spell, essentially casting a wide net across the surroundings in search of another brand of magic. The surrounding hustle and bustle made it difficult, creating a noisy mess of disturbance that gave her a headache to sift through, but her determined efforts bore fruit: Konoe's crest faded and began to morph, giving way to a new shape that webbed across the glass. 

But before the telltale sign could fully form, the mirror cracked. Momoi's reflexes were just good enough to fling the compact away and avoid getting caught in a tinkling shatter of glass.

Heads turned but Momoi didn't wait around fishing for an excuse. She left the remains of the compact and hurried away from the scene, diving into the press of a crowd to get lost in. Her hands clutched her purse tightly and the hammering in her chest echoed in her ears. 

It wasn't… wholly unexpected, a reaction like that. Certainly, rogue sorcerers had reason to hide, and would thus be inclined to leave nasty traps for anyone who tried to sniff after them. A counter-spell had been within her margin of expectation. Momoi forced her grip to relax, clenching and unclenching her fingers, finally having the thought to look down and examine them. She was uninjured. Thinking about it objectively, she'd been more startled than anything else. Her overreaction was just that and nothing more. 

Stopping by a fountain for a drink, the cool water helped soothe the last of her rattled nerves. She recalled the image that had begun to take shape right before the interruption. That would help narrow down the suspects, at least a little bit. If she could go back and further examine the trace amounts of the spell—and maybe something could be picked up on her shattered compact—that might yield more clues. Taking a calm, measured breath, Momoi turned to walk back to the bench.

She was stopped short by a hand that offered the jagged pieces of her cheap plastic compact. Bits of glass still clung to the frame like a mouth full of broken teeth. For a moment all Momoi could do was stare.

"Pardon me, but is this yours?"

Very slowly, Momoi's gaze traveled up the length of a thin, white arm. Narrow shoulders were framed within a fitted button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up on account of summer, and strands of dark hair draped around a pale face that might be described as refined. The shiver icing down her spine said otherwise. "Yes," she said, hollow and automatic. "Thank you."

The compact was dropped in her palm. Momoi flinched at the tingle of magic zapping through her skin, not enough to injure, but it had a sting.

"Ah, sorry about that." A sheepish stretch of the mouth and suddenly the stranger was a picture of innocence. "I didn't mean for someone else to get involved. I hope you weren't hurt."

Plastic creaked in Momoi's suddenly tight fist, not caring that tiny pieces of glass cut into her fingers. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, well… no, I'm just kidding." A shadow passed over the man's face, grin shifting into delighted malice. "That's a nice expression you're wearing."

Momoi whirled, searching wildly among the park-goers who went about their day without so much as a glance in her direction. "Somebody!" She interrupted a passing couple and they stumbled into her, shocked, but looking through her as if she was invisible.

Sight and sound were affected, maybe other senses, too. The radius of the spell couldn't be that big for such a complicated working, if she could just get out of its range…

A hand separated from the crowd to grab her. It was not a friendly grab. Momoi skipped her formal appeal, spitting out a few clumsy words in Latin— _Midorin is so **traditional**_ —and the hand let go with an accompanying yelp. Momoi took off running, glad for her flat sandals, and heedlessly elbowed her way through anyone in her path, gauging their reactions. Bewildered looks followed in her wake, but no accusations or outrage at a recognizable source. She gulped in air and screamed at the top of her lungs, but that failed to get a reaction as well.

Her panicked flight took her all the way to the entrance of the park. He couldn't have spelled the entire park. Maybe just the path…? But how would he have known her route? 

Momoi fumbled in her purse, wrapping her fingers (sliced bloody, she'd forgotten about that, couldn't even register the pain) around her phone and hitting the first button on speed dial. "Dai-chan, so help me God if you don't pick up—"

The call rang and rang. Momoi swore, under her breath at first and then louder just because she could. She would have welcomed the offended looks of little old ladies, elderly gentlemen, and mothers herding young children. She made towards the sidewalk as if to hail a cab, only to remember no one would notice her standing there. Aomine's voicemail recording taunted her. She'd try Midorima next.

Tires screeched as they pulled up in front of her, and a door clicked open. Momoi backed up a step, came up against something solid, and the words to the defensive spell flew from her lips only to break off on the last syllable when her wrist was captured and her arm wrenched back. Her phone was ripped free from her grasping fingers. 

She yelled to high heaven with fury and fear-tinged abandon, firing off her spell once more to earn a satisfying grunt of pain. Struggling, she didn't make it easy for them as they tried to shove her into the backseat of the car.

The air changed at her back, and the pressure eased up just long enough to be replaced with a comparatively gentle touch to the nape of her neck. "Oh," she choked as the mild sting pricked her flesh, working quickly. Her limbs grew unresponsive and she crumpled forward, and barely missed knocking her head on the roof of the car.

Not an area spell, then. It worked directly on her person. What an unpleasantly personal piece of work. Momoi glared balefully at the sorcerer's face through the window before darkness closed in on her.

#

Aomine woke with the lethargy of one who couldn't be bothered to move, shuttering his eyes against the morning light and soaking in its lazy warmth. There was a familiar presence crowding his back; an arm loosely curled around his waist and the faint stirring of steady, languid breath tickling his skin.

Kise must have come back last night. There was something about that fact that felt off somehow, but when alarm failed to manifest Aomine got bored and dismissed the matter entirely.

Something buzzed. Was that his phone? Shit, he couldn't reach it from here. Aomine entertained the thought of getting up to answer it, then defeated the purpose by letting the call go to voicemail anyway. Whatever. He'd check it later.

Kise made a displeased sound and drew closer, nosing the crook of Aomine's neck while his fingers slipped lower under the sheet, though whether by accident or design it was impossible to tell. Seemed to be a fox thing—Kise could seduce even from a dead sleep (and what a dubious talent that was).

Less sleepy by the second, Aomine grunted, "You better be awake if you're going to start that."

The movement stilled.

"Of course," Aomine grumbled, but there were ways of fixing that. He rolled over, not caring that he half-squashed Kise in the process because served him right.

"Wha— _oww!_ "

Smug satisfaction curdled at the note of a pained whine. Aomine sat up, frowning, and pulled Kise's hand away from his face to reveal a marvelously blackened eye. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh my God, is it as bad as it feels?"

"It's pretty damn impressive. Shame about the moneymaker, though."

"Shit, I have to call Yukio…"

"You do that." Aomine slid from the bed, stretching as he did so, and sauntered out into the kitchen to retrieve a cold compress from the freezer. Only years of Momoi's nagging prevented him from grabbing the nearest dirty dishtowel, stepping outside to pull a clean one from the laundry line instead.

Kise was already on the phone with his manager, sitting hunched over on the couch as if he could physically grovel his way out things. From the sounds coming through the phone, he may have to go do so in person.

"I know, _I know_ , no, it's really swollen, I don't think all the makeup in the world could—yeah, okay. But other than that, I'm totally fine! That's a relief, right?" He pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince until the particularly furious yelling lowered to standard pissed-off levels "Yes. Yes, I will. I'll make sure of it. Thank you very much." He hung up with a dramatically dejected sigh.

Sounded like Kasamatsu was as much of a hardass as ever. Fortunately, Kise was the type to flourish under tough love. Aomine nudged the unmarred side of his face with the towel-wrapped compress. "Here."

"Thanks." Kise shifted the ice to his eye, but did a double-take when he got a good look at Aomine. "What are you—put some clothes on!"

"Don't feel like it," he said just to be contrary, and besides, the weather was plenty warm enough. He'd been out on the balcony for all of half a second, and they were several stories up, so on the off-chance someone did get an eyeful, that was their problem. The fact that Kise had slept fully clothed was weirder. "Isn't it a little late for you to be scandalized?"

"Not me," Kise said, then lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper and pointed at the door to the other bedroom. "We have a guest!"

"Satsuki's seen it all before." Although she'd yell about it and Aomine wasn't sure he wanted to deal with that this morning, or ever. "All right, all right, I'll put on pants. Happy?"

"It's not Momoicchi."

"Oh?" He snagged some more laundry, stepping into a worn pair of boxers that were ideal for passing lazy summer days. As a generous concession, he also pulled on track pants, but didn't bother with a shirt. No need to get fancy here, unless this mystery guest was the Prime Minister or someone's mom. "Wait." A light bulb stuttered on, delayed though it may be. "It's not your mom, is it? Didn't you go see her yesterday?"

"It's a long story." Kise wilted as though the memory was too much to bear. Aomine guessed it was only a matter of time before he got the full disclosure, whether he wanted to hear it or not. "But first, Aominecchi, you have to promise not to kill him."

"What? Why? Kill who?"

"Promise first!"

"This is stupid." More curious than anything, Aomine ignored Kise's protests and went straight for the bedroom door, throwing it open without preamble.

"Wait, wait, wait, I'll explain—oof!"

Aomine rocked forward from Kise's weight barreling into him from behind, and caught himself on the doorframe with one hand. "No need," he drawled, taking in the view with an unimpressed eye, "there's no one here."

"Eh?" Kise stuck his chin over Aomine's shoulder, cheek cold from the ice. "Eeeh?!"

"Man, and I thought it would be something interesting..."

"No way!" Kise pushed forward to circle the bed, which did look somewhat more rumpled than the way Momoi usually left it. Bored and a little bit let down, Aomine wandered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk (after checking—with good reason—to see if the expiration date hadn't passed yet) while Kise searched the rest of the apartment. "I can't believe it!"

"First time being ditched the morning after, huh?"

"In case you forgot, I woke up in bed with _you_. Regretfully."

"Ouch. That hurts."

"You'll live." Kise paused in front of the stupid whiteboard Momoi had forced on them under pretense of a gift (and just what was Aomine supposed to use it for, if not inappropriate pictures?). Scanning the messages, Kise's entire body slumped. "He really left just like that. Geez, what if something happens?"

Aomine came up to read over Kise's shoulder. "Don't keep me in suspense or anything..." His words trailed off, recent memory pinging him. "Kuroko?"

"Part of my long story, a torrid tale of kidnapping and thwarted romance and vampires breaking my mother's windows. Kurokocchi helped me out, though, so he is _not_ for staking. But I guess it doesn't matter much now."

 _Huh_ , Aomine thought. _Small fucking world._ He prodded Kise. "Kidnapping?"

That was all the prompting Kise needed to regale Aomine with his late-night drama, colored with commentary on his embarrassing mothers (Aomine had never met them and was pretty sure he didn't want to) and Kuroko's way of being bad for the heart (Aomine sympathized), and closing with a half-joking appeal for vengeance (which Aomine was happy to take at face value).

"Interesting," he said with a grin that was slow to manifest, and edged with teeth as it did, taking his time to enjoy the prospect of a decent hunt. About damn time. "But we're gonna need bait. So... where does Kuroko live?"

"He didn't say." Kise pouted. "No matter how many times I asked."

"Stalker."

"I'm just concerned!"

Momoi could probably find out, she was good at that sort of thing. Where was his phone again?

"But," Kise added with a triumphant curve of his lips, "I know where he works."

Nearly purring with pleasure and anticipation, Aomine leaned in to plant a kiss on Kise's smiling mouth. "Good start."

#

Kuroko might have slept the day away if not for the nightmare. It was nothing new: a deeply furrowed glare, a bristling growl, fangs bared with a rush that ended blood-covered on the note of a wolf's keening howl.

The only outward sign of his startled awakening was a shudder, his reflexive intake of breath silent as he strained to listen to his surroundings. All was quiet, save for the soft sound of another person breathing nearby. He was curled on his side, the floor underneath him cool and unforgivably hard, and there was some light beyond the thin lids of his eyes. The sun's presence was muted, but in no way receding. He estimated a few hours had passed at most.

Kuroko was tempted to simply fall back asleep, get some rest while he could and be better prepared for… whatever was in store for him. He was still alive, but that fact was becoming less and less reassuring the more times he found it was his sole comfort.

Cracking his eyes open, the room swam into focus. There wasn't much to see, but it was looking very much like a barren cellar. There were windows at ground level letting in light, but otherwise the stairs were the only visible exit.

His hands were confined behind his back again, but not with rope. The weight of metal encased his wrists, connected by a short chain that left him scant room to move them around. His ankles were cuffed the same way, giving him enough maneuverability to walk but little else. How very medieval.

"Oh, you're awake." A female voice floated behind him, and with forced cheer continued, "Good! I was getting a bit gloomy by myself."

Lacking grace, Kuroko half rolled and half pushed himself up into a sitting position, then struggled through a bout of dizziness left over from his magically spiked drink. That would teach him not to accept things from sketchy barmen. It all seemed so obvious in retrospect.

Opposite him was a girl, also shackled, face pale but smiling. "Fancy meeting you here," she said. "Um… Kuroko-kun, was it?"

He scanned through his sizable memory but came up with no match for a girl with her features and coloring. There was a nervous lilt to her voice, understandable given the circumstances, but there was also the way her gaze measured the distance between them. His waking relieved her, but made her wary, too. Like she had no idea if she'd been locked up with a bloodthirsty monster. Kuroko made no move towards her, easing back instead to slouch against the wall. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

A shade of genuine humor lightened her expression. "Kind of. We have a mutual boneheaded acquaintance and one evening he decided to bring an unconscious vampire home." The caution returned when she added, "I helped save your life, you know."

 _Ah._ "I see." Kuroko pressed his lips together and made an effort to not look hungry as that particular memory surfaced, because it would only be taken the wrong way. "In that case, thank you."

"You're welcome. Since we're stuck here, we might as well officially introduce ourselves. I'm Momoi Satsuki, a witch of humble talent."

There was a faint whiff of active magic around her, proving that whatever small ability she had, she could use it if need arose. Interesting, and possibly useful. He filed the tidbit away for future consideration. "Kuroko Tetsuya. Nice to meet you." 

Giving the room a more thorough sweep now that he was up and relatively clear-headed, something new caught his eye—a detail he hadn't noticed before. It was a trap door leading to a second underground level, a later addition not intended as part of the building's design given the crude way it had been dug out.

"I already tried it," Momoi said when Kuroko shuffled over to inspect more closely. 

Of course it was locked, but not with bolt, latch, or padlock. The door was sealed with a spell to prevent it from budging. Kuroko bent his face near the cracks and breathed in. Aside from the magic scent, there was a hint of something else—something that made him think that they were better off with the door shut.

Momoi observed his actions with suspicion. "What is it?"

"Nothing." 

She didn't look convinced, and continued to watch him in silence for several long moments. Then, apparently concluding that there wasn't anything else to be done, Momoi let some of the tension leave her body. Her chains rattled as she made a sad attempt to get comfortable. "Say, I don't suppose you can do something about these?" 

"Not without a blowtorch." 

"Oh, well. It was worth asking." Her sigh shook with brittle aggravation and did little to hold back her fear. "It will take forever for stupid Dai-chan to realize I'm missing…"

Kuroko thought back to Aomine and their first meeting. He was sure the homunculus had targeted the hunter; Kuroko's presence for that fight had been utterly ignored. There was no reason for a sorcerer to send something as flashy as a homunculus after someone like Kuroko. Then again, two kidnappings within 24 hours weren't very subtle, either. Kise's part in it had been a coincidence, just his plain bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This had started before, with Aomine. Somehow Kuroko had gotten someone's attention.

"Excuse me, Momoi-san?"

"Yes?"

"Do you happen to know who might be behind this?"

Her expression darkened, anger sparked to momentarily chase away her concerns. "Yes, a little. I don't know his name, but he's a renegade who's responsible for several disappearances in this area, all powerful sorcerers, God only knows why. Someone's on his trail, but I'm not holding my breath for a rescue." She winced as if the very suggestion was ludicrous.

The faintest wisp of an idea blew back and forth in Kuroko's mind, so unpleasant that he would have preferred to snuff it out. A sense of carefulness made him ask, "The same person who sent the homunculus after Aomine-kun?"

Momoi opened her mouth, then closed it. "Oh. Huh."

Kuroko waited patiently.

Momoi speculated aloud, more for her own benefit with little thought as to her audience's understanding. "I should have known a homunculus wasn't his style. I don't think he's powerful enough to create one, either. So why did he let me catch onto him? All it did was lead me here. …Oh, hell, are they working together?"

"They?" A sorcerer experimenting with homunculi was worrisome for the obvious reasons, but not too out of the ordinary. When vampires got thrown into that mix, however, it became a whole different kind of bad. Kuroko shouldn't have come to Tokyo. Maybe he shouldn't have come back to Japan at all.

Momoi went on, gaining momentum with her train of thought. "The guy who sent the homunculus is probably the same creep who brought me here, and is kidnapping all of Tokyo's best and brightest. But someone else was watching Dai-chan's fight, and I'm almost certain that _he_ has knowledge our other sorcerer would be keen on learning, if he isn't putting it to practice already."

Kuroko should have gone to Europe instead.

"I mean, classified info or not, it doesn't take a genius to figure out there's some connection between magic blood and vampires."

He heard the Netherlands were nice this time of year.

"Which begs the question," Momoi's eyes sharpened on him, "of how you fit into all this."

Kuroko blinked roundly at her, surrendering nothing beyond his placid facade, until she began to visibly lose patience and he finally said in his defense: "I was made the normal way." There was something darkly humorous about that, referring to his death and subsequent revival as normal and harmless.

He was saved (questionable though such a rescue was) from further interrogation by the near-silent swish of a door opening, and the trod of feet down the stairs. Two familiar faces appeared, looking as though they'd had almost as rough a night as Kuroko. He thought again of how he drove that truck forward instead of in reverse.

The blond popped his gum. "Awake already? Good, then you can walk on your own."

"Up," said the other.

Kuroko did as they said since it looked like the alternative was to be carried or dragged. He was led up the stairs through a Western-style house—more like a mansion with its pointlessly large and heavily decorated rooms. They passed right by the exit (so close yet so far), then up another staircase, this one a grand affair curving along the wall in the foyer. Conscious of his shoes tracking dirt all over the polished floor, Kuroko was briefly caught between a warring sense of petty revenge and staunchly ingrained manners.

Such distractions fell away when they stopped in front of a door. Three evenly spaced knocks, and a voice answered, "Finally. Come in."

Stepping inside, Kuroko was assailed with the ozone scent of magic, so rich he could taste it and probably scrape it off his tongue. That wasn't all; his fangs unsheathed in physiological response to blood. Large amounts of it. Glassware of all shapes and sizes glinted in the dimly lit room, filled with dark liquid. Kuroko had the feeling that while Seto's bar catered to all kinds, this was more of a connoisseur's collection.

"We meet at last," said a figure sitting at the desk, head bent over an open book bound in sturdy leather that looked to be centuries old. Incongruously, there was also a computer screen glowing in front of him as if to show that tradition wasn't everything. The man lifted his gaze at his own leisure, amusement evident in the smile that skewed his mouth, and made a short gesture with his hand.

The wordless command dismissed the other two from the atelier, though by the sound of it they only went as far as guarding the door on the other side.

Since it appeared he would be here for a while, Kuroko wondered if he had to wait for permission to sit. Before he could ask, his host cornered him and reached out to grab his chin, tilting his face up in curious examination. His touch stung with magic that crawled icy and unpleasant underneath Kuroko's skin.

"Hmm. You don't look it, but there's a slight resemblance."

Kuroko stared back, unblinking, but it failed to unnerve this man. The fingers on his chin slid up to thumb back his lip on one side, then the other, revealing elongated canines to measuring scrutiny. Next, the spidery sensation of the sorcerer's hand crept lower to press against the steady pulse in Kuroko's throat.

His recent brushes with bad magic aside, a steady diet was all Kuroko needed to remain in good health. This didn't have the feel of a benign check-up, though. The sorcerer's attention, expectant and weighing, said otherwise.

"When were you born?"

Kuroko had to think about it. "1851… probably."

"How did you die?"

"Shot to the chest." Ironic, how he'd died drowning in what he now consumes to survive.

"Who sired you?"

He remembered tasting his own blood, the last thing he'd ever known as a human, and then the heady rush of power that brought him back, never to be the same again. A crimson splash of color under a slate winter sky, cold hands touching his face, and, _"Wake up, Tetsuya."_

Despite himself, his eyes half closed in vivid memory. "…Akashi-kun."

The hand that ruffled his hair was rough with latent violence, and a condescending tone dripped poisonously in his ear. "Very good, Kuroko. It seems you are the genuine article."

Should he have lied? Kept silent? No, the result would have been the same. He was being toyed with, but there was no telling whether that might be good for him in the long run or not.

With a chuckle the sorcerer moved away, melding into the shadows of the room. "If you're his progeny then you're worth the trouble. But first…"

Fabric rustled, and without warning the world was ablaze with light. Heavy curtains had been pulled back to let in the sun, streaming full-force through immense windows and reflecting off an abundance of ruby-bright glass. All Kuroko saw were flashes, explosions of searing blindness, and he may not have been literally bursting into flames but the idea wasn't far off the mark. Swaying on his feet, he would have toppled if not for a sudden jerk on his arm keeping him upright.

"Please," scoffed a callous voice, "it won't kill you, and you're useless to me if you're dead."

Kuroko would have liked to say something unkind, but had to settle for hissing through his teeth while pressing the heels of his hands to his watering eyes and trying not to crumple to the floor.

"Still," the sorcerer continued with a thoughtfulness that failed to comfort, "a second generation is more sensitive than I would have predicted. Your sire hardly flinched on a cloudless summer day."

Kuroko kept his snort of disbelief to himself, recalling all too well the cranky moods Akashi could get into on those days when there was no one else around to witness his weakness. 

"Then again, he had a certain ability that I believe you lack."

That was a valid point, though maybe not a fair one. Not everyone could be gifted with a talent for sorcery. "I suppose you'll want to test that, too," Kuroko said, knowingly easing into a state of dull resignation.

"In time." The man treated him to a smile that made all manner of self-preservation instincts flare up. He walked by a table where the expected magical paraphernalia was assembled: plants both dried and fresh, precious stones and metals, bits of bone and fur and scales from no mortal creature. His fingers trailed over the flat blade of a knife, thin and silver, picking it up by the handle with familiar grace. It was plain, made for utility more than decoration. An inspection of its sharp edge met with satisfaction, lighting an unholy gleam in the depths of murky eyes as they came to rest on Kuroko. 

"I have a few other ideas to try first."

#

"Not much to look at, is it?"

"Eh?"

Aomine looked the storefront up and down, decidedly unimpressed, while standing at ease with his hands in his pockets. "Are you sure you have the right place?"

"Of course I'm sure!" One phone call was all it had taken to get the address, and Kaori had been pleased by his inquiry. No doubt she thought he was finally taking an interest in how the other half lived, but Kise was still a long way from considering raw liver an acceptable part of his diet. "It's just…" His skin prickled; the air around the building felt _strange_ and rather unwelcoming. Maybe not outright malicious, but he had to fight the urge to just walk away and forget the whole thing. There was nothing to see here, the bar was closed, and Kaori had mentioned it wouldn't open for business until sundown. The longer they stood here, the more Kise felt that this was a waste of time.

Aomine had no such reservations. "Fine, I guess we'd better have a look." He went to the door.

"W-wait!" Kise grabbed his arm, though that didn't deter Aomine from trying the door and finding it naturally locked. "What are you doing? You can't just break in! And in broad daylight!"

"Nobody's paying attention."

When Kise glanced back at the steady flow of pedestrian traffic along the sidewalk he found it was true; no one paid any notice to the pair of them, suspicious as they were. Kise especially with his large sunglasses and sleeveless hoodie borrowed from Aomine, head covered to try and disguise his distinctive looks (not to mention his puffy, discolored eye). Better to be suspiciously anonymous than Kise Ryouta, celebrity, out for a stroll on a sunny afternoon that may or may not end in the surreptitious disposal of dead bodies.

"There's a spell or something," Aomine said as if it was no big deal they were standing in the middle of it. "You don't feel it?"

Oh. "Is that what that is?" The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Aomine gave him a look that said: _you're pretty, but sometimes you're pretty stupid._

Since no one was looking, Kise retaliated by biting him on the shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks. He dodged the elbow aimed at his side without letting go.

"Get off, I don't want your rabies or cooties or whatever."

Kise released him just so he could arch a brow and repeat, " _Cooties?_ Are you five?"

"Who knows where you've been?" Aomine attempted to play innocent. It was not a look he pulled off well, the corners of his mouth curling up in telltale mockery.

Kise rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Are you seriously going to break in? 'After Dark' kind of implies it'll open when the sun goes down."

There was that look again, this time joined with a snort. "As if they'd let me in."

…Okay, he had a point. "I could get in…"

"Are you really so eager to become somebody's snack?"

"Maybe if they asked nicely and had better manners than you," Kise said with a touch of pique.

Aomine laughed, low and brief, while peering through the darkened windows. There wasn't much to be seen from this side.

"Is there a reason you want to break in instead of wait? Kurokocchi will probably show up later."

"He might not. You were the one who was all worried."

"And _you_ ," Kise leaned heavily on Aomine's frame with an up-close, accusing stare, "never told me you'd met him before."

"Drop it already, it wasn't a big deal."

"A vampire hunter saved a vampire. Not a big deal. Right."

"Don't be racist, I hunt a lot more than vampires. Now get off." He gave Kise a shove. "I want to have a look around, I don't need more of a reason than that." Aomine withdrew a knife from his pocket, reversing his grip on it so the blunt handle aimed at the glass.

Kise's alarm fought a losing battle against inevitability as Aomine struck the window pane. It cracked on impact, loud enough to make Kise wince and cast a nervous glance at the unsuspecting public. "You better hope this place doesn't have a security system."

"No cameras," Aomine said with certainty as he cleared away broken glass with the knife's tip. "Too many creepy-crawlies things have a way of slipping by them, so it's pointless. If there's something magical and nasty waiting, it hasn't killed me yet." Like that was supposed to be reassuring. He fit his hand through the hole in the window and fumbled with the door's lock. It opened with a click.

Kise didn't know whether to be impressed or disappointed with the bar's lack of security. It didn't seem like a very safe place to work. There had to be a better way for Kuroko to make a living.

Aomine strolled in like he owned the place, and just by looking Kise could tell he was itching for some excitement. He had to be disappointed, then, that the inside was quiet and empty. Tables and chairs were neatly arranged, the bar itself clean and in order, and aside from the questionable contents of the unlabeled bottles on the shelves, everything looked ordinary and harmless. A calm, peaceful atmosphere pervaded the establishment.

Undaunted, Aomine climbed over the bar (ignoring the perfectly usable counter flap) and peered closely at the shelves. Most of the bottles were filled with red—he passed over those. Apparently after a while blood didn't warrant a second glance from a hunter. The bottle he chose to swipe was a noxious yellow-green, shimmering iridescent when it caught the light.

Kise pulled out a chair to sit in while calling out, "If you're dumb enough to open that, I hope it poisons you."

"Eh. Been there, done that, lived to tell about it. The hallucinations were kind of fun." He gave the bottle a shake, mercenary grin spreading across his features. "And it's worth a lot of money."

Kise watched as Aomine perused the rest of the stock, as eager as a kid in a very, very messed up candy store, and not for the first time was amazed at the turn his life had taken.

While Aomine had his fun, Kise let his attention drift around the room. Whatever magic had been laid outside the building didn't permeate within, so he was quite comfortable. After Dark didn't really seem like his scene (in more ways than one), but he would admit it was cozy, probably a nice reprieve for its intended clientele. Too bad he'd never be welcome here after this, what with the breaking and entering and probable stealing going on behind the counter. That was what he got for bringing Aomine into this.

He caught the sound of the barest mutter that might have been his name. His head swiveled in Aomine's direction. "What was that?" 

"Huh?" Aomine was testing another door, also locked, with no breakable windows to take advantage of. "What was what?"

"I thought I heard…" Kise broke off as the sound reached him again, a sibilant whisper, coming from the side. He slowly turned in his seat.

There was nobody there, just another empty table and chair by the window, crowded by a plant that could initially be chalked up as a poor choice of layout. Sure, it was the only spot that got natural light, but anyone sitting at the table would have to share it with a tree…

Kise's stare followed the odd L-shaped bend of the tree trunk that grew under the table and into the floor. Actually, the closer he looked, the more it resembled a figure sitting. _Or maybe,_ he thought with rising dread, _it's a carnivorous tree that grew around the person it just ate oh my God let's get out of here._ "Aominecchi—"

"…se …ta."

_Wait. What?_

Wood creaked with groaning effort, and in a dry, halting timbre a voice rasped, "Ki… se. Ryou… ta."

Kise watched and listened, transfixed.

"Kao… ri."

Movement blurred in front of him. "Wait, wait, wait!" Kise snatched Aomine by the elbow, holding back the hand with the lighter, orange flame wavering dangerously. "It's okay, let's listen to him. It. Or whatever."

The leaves clinging stubbornly to withered branches rustled in a semblance of gratitude. "Ki… se."

Aomine shook off his hold, but obligingly snuffed the flame. He kept the lighter in view, though, twirling it casually in one hand. "At this rate it'll take forever to hear him out."

A sigh and a whisper answered the remark, carrying a clear note of disgruntlement. His interest fully engaged now, Kise went to slide into the seat across from the Tree where he could see how the creases and notches in the bark formed a gnarled old face. After that, it was somehow easy to interpret every tiny leaf rustle, every shiver and scrape of bark. The use of words fell away, too crude and simple and dumb to bother with, but Kise came to a full understanding that this was an acquaintance of Kaori's even more ancient than she was.

The Tree had been a resident of this bar for quite some time, salvaged after being cruelly uprooted for the sake of land development, and it was thankful enough to keep quiet even though it greatly missed being outside with proper sun and rain to nourish its life. Few people bothered to keep the Tree company, but it wasn't overly fond of conversation anyway. Kaori visiting once every few years was enough, and the telling of its tale now was a necessary chore, nothing more and nothing less. Very recently, though, the Tree had come to appreciate the subtle, polite presence of a young vampire. They had never really conversed, but it was enough that the vampire treated the Tree with appropriate respect, as was its due (Kise detected a note of old man bitterness and bit the inside of his lip to maintain his attentive face).

"How long are you going to commune with your new friend?" Aomine had put his feet up with his chair tipped back on two legs, arms folded behind his head. He gave no sign that he understood or even cared about what was being discussed.

Kise shushed him. "Tree-san is telling me about Kurokocchi!"

"You totally are a stalker."

Leaves rattled in a clear, _ahem._

It was no business of the Tree's, really, what happened by and to others inside the bar. It had been silent witness to numerous altercations within these walls. But still (and Kise privately thought it was protesting too much), there was some concern over what had happened early this morning. It would be a shame of anything happened to that vampire.

Eyes wide with the wealth of information, Kise passed everything along to Aomine, ending in a panicked rush, "That's terrible, we have to do something!"

"Hmm." Aomine rocked on the back of his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, something about this reeks. It's all a little too coincidental."

"But we're going to help Kurokocchi, right?"

"Of course." All four legs of the chair slammed back down to the floor. Aomine waved his lighter at the Tree. "Although I don't buy your altruism. This is big, and you just don't want to get caught up in it. Who's to say this Seto won't make you into woodchips when he comes back?"

The floorboards under the Tree groaned threateningly.

"Just try it, you overgrown bonsai. I'll kill you with fire."

"Aominecchi, quit picking a fight, we have to find Kurokocchi!"

"Waste of energy. Let's just wait for this Seto bastard to come back."

"Oh, sure." Kise crossed his arms over his chest, put out. "Now you want to wait. Kurokocchi could be dead or dying—"

"Doubt it. They went through a lot of trouble to keep him alive. Unless Tinder here can tell us where to find him?"

Kise's stomach flopped at the rumbling sensation of the floor under his feet and he quickly moved away from the table. Grabbing Aomine by both shoulders, he steered him towards the door. "Don't be rude, Aominecchi, Tree-san obviously doesn't get out much and has already helped a lot. Ah—thank you very much, Tree-san! I'll let Kaori-san know you're doing well!"

"Yeah, thanks, see you later if you don't become kindling—damnit, quit pushing, Kise!"

"Shut up, this is why I can't take you anywhere!"

#

Not long after they'd taken Kuroko away, someone brought her a small bowl of plain rice and another bowl filled with water. Momoi scooted as far away from the stairs as possible when the footsteps descended, the words of her meager little defensive spell springing to mind, but once the bowls were set down the flat-eyed man left without giving her a second look. Alone once more, Momoi swallowed her nerves and regulated her breathing.

There was no dampening or restraint on her magic, although it was hardly useful without any ingredients or tools at her disposal. Still, she took some small comfort in the fact that she could sense energy within her reach.

It was hard to say how long they planned to keep her here like this. She wasn't powerful enough to be of much use for… whatever they were using those other sorcerers for. Momoi grimaced and shifted, though the movement did little to alleviate the ache in her arms and legs.

But they were feeding her at least. And since they hadn't killed her immediately she presumed they wanted to alive for some reason, or maybe they were waiting to see if they could use her somehow. Her first thought was that it had something to do with her connection to Aomine, seeing how that homunculus had been sent after him.

Though, as a rule, hunters mostly stayed out of sorcerer affairs. Whether they belonged to the guild or worked solo, they all hunted monsters of the non-human variety. Magistrates took care of the human business. This operation wouldn't have interested Aomine that much.

 _Well,_ Momoi amended, _maybe it would have. He's been bored._ It still seemed like a stretch.

There was Midorima to consider, but that was even less likely. They weren't what anyone would call close, despite Momoi's efforts. She could just imagine his apathetic face if they tried to use her as a hostage against him. Didn't do much for a girl's ego, but she was used to Midorima's prickly, unsociable ways.

A third possibility remained: if Kuroko was as disinclined to feed on her as he seemed, she could just be leverage against him. It was a simple and immediate scenario. Momoi didn't like that it all hinged on a vampire going against his own nature, and they were essentially strangers, but it fit in with her other clue that Kuroko had something these people wanted. Most likely something about the secret to creating perfect life. Homunculi were crude attempts even at their most refined, and that was the extent of what was allowed within the law. Any experimentation that went further than that brought the magistrate down hard.

It didn't seem like it would be worth the trouble or the risk, but maybe sorcerers that powerful had nothing better to do than indulge their vanity. Historically, those who'd been found guilty were said to have been absolute nutjobs, although Momoi had her suspicions about the official records. Her research into the topic had been impeded by too many walls of "confidential" and "classified" and "vague hand-waving that raised more questions than it answered."

It was almost enough to make a girl concoct a doozy of a compulsion spell and use it on a certain magistrate with high-level clearance… although that was the second most illegal thing anyone could do. Funny how the two prohibitions went together like that.

Momoi sighed. There was nothing she could do right now about her lack of information. Regarding her current situation, she'd been more or less left alone so far, so it would be best to remain quiet and cooperative until Aomine figured out she wasn't around to do him any favors. Hopefully he'd realize before he got himself into a messy scrape of some sort, but it was far too easy to picture him making a daring rescue, guns blazing, while already half dead like in the movies.

Her gaze fell on the humble meal by the stairs, eying it distastefully. With her arms behind her back like this, there was no way to eat or drink and be dignified about it. She wasn't even hungry. But what if it was taken away? Better to eat what she could get and keep her strength and wits about her.

She inched along the floor until she could lean down over the rice, steaming gently, and examine the grains for anything unusual. Her captor seemed like the sort who'd enjoy magicking her food even though petty tricks like that were far beneath his level. Both food and water appeared clean, though. No discoloration, no abnormal smell, no visible foreign substances.

Before she could bring herself to lower her head (as well as her pride), the heavy sound of the door being unlocked and opened had her backing away once more. Two pairs of feet came into view, one of them chained and stumbling, and Kuroko was dropped to sprawl unceremoniously upon the floor. 

There was blood on his shirt. Not a lot, but it was a bright red stain wetting the fabric. The tip of a fang was visible poking out from his slightly parted mouth as he drew in labored breaths.

Momoi kept her distance, but she called out, "Are you okay?"

"…Yes," Kuroko answered after a pause. He tensed, then pushed himself up so he was kneeling, which gave Momoi a view of the thin line slashed down his cheek. The edges were smeared with blood all the way down to his chin, but the cut itself had already healed closed. "What about you, Momoi-san?"

She blinked, not expecting the concern. "I… I'm fine." _Better off than you._

"I see. That's good." He glanced around the room, gaze coming to rest on the still untouched meal.

"Ah, that. I've had better room service." And she wasn't about to eat with an audience. "But if you'd like to wash your… or, well, I guess that would be kind of hard without your hands."

Kuroko's stare became more intent on the bowls. "Momoi-san, would you be willing to try something?"

"That… depends."

"Is there someone you could contact outside?" 

A simple bowl of water was an excellent tool for scrying. Communicating through it was a little more advanced than that, but still comfortably within Momoi's ability. Only… "Yes, but I don't have the necessary components." Not everyone could zap spells into existence with just a touch. Her eyes narrowed. "But seeing how this _is_ a sorcerer's house, we might be able to obtain them somehow…"

"There's no need for that. I'll be the component."

"You… what?"

Flabbergasted, all Momoi could do was watch as Kuroko wriggled his legs through the loop of his arms, bringing his bound hands in front. She had little time to be impressed with his flexibility because soon he was setting the bowl of water close to her and saying, "Momoi-san, describe your crest for me."

"What the heck are you doing?"

He nicked the pad of his finger on a sharp tooth, blood welling up. "Creating a link. Don't worry, it's harmless and temporary. Please trust me. Momoi-san, your crest?"

Not knowing what else to do, she began to describe it, going into thorough detail when Kuroko asked until he could paint it with unerring accuracy upon his clean cheek. Halfway through he had to reopen the cut on his finger. Momoi had the impression that even for a vampire he healed uncommonly fast.

Finished, half his face from brow to chin, and even extending across the bridge of his nose, was branded with a macabre rendition of Momoi's unique sign. The sight was unsettling to look at, and not only due to the blood. It just didn't seem right to go around marking someone like that. _Temporary_ , she reminded herself, controlling her urge to squirm and avert her eyes.

"Momoi-san," Kuroko said very carefully, holding her gaze. He hesitated before explaining, "I also need some of your blood."

"Of course," she said dryly, chuckling without humor because it just figured she wouldn't get out of this without being bitten. Her shoulders hitched up of their own accord to guard her neck. Steeling herself, she turned around and hunched over slightly so he could reach her bare arms. "Just—a little bit, all right?"

A glancing touch swept her hair out of the way, and was replaced by a faint stir of breath that made her flesh prickle. "I'll make it quick."

"Go ahead and—eep!" 

Teeth nipped at the inside of her elbow where the skin was thin, though it wasn't the easiest place to reach with her arms angled like this. Momoi squeezed her eyes shut and told herself it was like getting blood drawn at the clinic, but it actually wasn't like that at all, feeling her blood trickle out to be licked up in steady swipes. The idea of it was worse than the actual pain, though, and Kuroko didn't put his mouth on her more than necessary. After the initial bite she never felt his teeth again. The ordeal ended as suddenly as it began.

"That should be enough."

Momoi let out a relieved sigh and hurried to get her bloodied arm out from under the vampire's nose. Though he'd been nothing but considerate to her so far, better safe than sorry. "What next?"

"The incantation. Make your appeal, and then repeat after me."

This all seemed too easy, but as long as whatever he had in mind worked… "I humbly beg your guidance, and present myself to you in service if you would grant my wish.

_Under darkest night and coldest moon, I made thee;_

_With highest power and thickest blood, I bound thee;_

_By the authority of none other than this sign, I name thee;_

_Kuroko Tetsuya, I hereby claim thee._ "

As soon as the final word was cast into the air Momoi sucked in a breath, eyes flying wide at the shift of energy around her. It crackled over and under her skin, sinking a hold into her, locking in place. All of a sudden everything expanded; the ticklish ebb and flow of magic to which she was accustomed had become a vast current that parted obligingly at her touch, let itself be shaped by her hand. She gathered it to herself, marveling that her power must have increased tenfold.

No—not her power itself, but her access to it. The magic was always there, a well waiting to be tapped by those who knew how, and Momoi was no longer limited to scooping from it by the handful. A mere flick of her wrist and it flowed according to her will.

"Forget calling for help, I could bust out of here like this!"

"You would have to _fight_ your way out," Kuroko corrected. His condition appeared no worse for wear, although there was a nervous tightness around his mouth. "And we still don't know where we are."

Logic made a bitterly cold splash as it doused her fervor. She wouldn't even know where to begin if things came down to a magic battle, and she'd much rather escape without attracting her host's malevolent notice. "Of course, you're right. Then let's get started."

She allowed herself a single well-deserved luxury and freed her arms from their shackles, the chain breaking easily under one sharp, cutting word of power. She could put it back together afterward for the sake of appearances if need be. For now, she wrapped her hands around the bowl of water and repeated her appeal—it may not have been necessary, but no good could come out of cutting corners.

The spell took effect with glorious clarity in the small vessel, showing her a familiar family crest and holding that image in place. "Come on, Midorin, don't pick now of all times to suddenly develop a social life!"

"I heard that," said a welcome, if disdainful, voice. The image in the water wavered, giving way to a thunderous scowl. "Where are on earth are you? I just tried calling you with information regarding—what is that?"

"That" being Kuroko, peering blankly over Momoi's shoulder. Taking one look at Midorima's too-sharp gaze, Momoi waved her hands in front of herself frantically. "Never mind him! Ah, Midorin, I kind of… got involved in something."

That brought his attention back on her, although being subject to his undivided anger was far from pleasant. "What. Did. You. Do."

"Well… you see… about your case…" She laughed helplessly and plastered a smile on her face. "I found him! Your target. Pretty good, huh? Why don't you come over to smite him, and pick me up, and we'll call it a day?"

The stretch of silence that followed was more worrisome than the most extravagant of explosions. Midorima's expression was unreadable and Momoi felt her heart sink with leaden heaviness. _He's never going to speak to me again after this._

"Tell me everything," he said at last.

Momoi nodded, shoving her misery back with sheer force of will. She told him about the park and the spell that had been placed on her, how she woke up in a cellar an indeterminable amount of time later, but from what she could see out the windows the weather was still sunny and fair.

Kuroko added what he had seen of the rest of the house, even providing an estimated square footage. He and Momoi put together a description of the sorcerer behind everything. They kept to the facts; if Kuroko knew more than what Momoi suspected, he didn't say anything, and Midorima would reach the same conclusions she had.

"Is it enough?" she asked when all had been told. "Can you find us?"

"Frankly, the information isn't conclusive, but it's a start. Can you hold out for a few days, keeping me updated?" His impassive demeanor slipped into more recognizable severity as he pinned Momoi with a glare. "There is also the matter of how you managed this spell with your situation as it is."

She'd seen that one coming. "I don't really know myself, but, ah…" She sent Kuroko a sidelong look that gave way to full-blown surprise as the bowl in front of her shattered, spraying water and glazed shards.

Shrieking, Momoi threw her arms up in front of her face. A chant of, _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ , started up in her head. Unconsciously, she gathered power, for her own security if nothing else.

Dread settled thick and black in the pit of her stomach as the door at the top of the stairs swung open with an ominous sound. The sorcerer paused upon the landing, gazing down upon her and Kuroko in an apparent good mood, smile stretched wide across his lips. Momoi wanted nothing more than to crawl under something and hide, shivering under that pleased assessment.

"As I thought. Allow me to offer you two my thanks for that informative demonstration."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted to get this story arc over with in one go, but then it became quickly apparent that the chapter was going to be enormous. Also, this was a cliffhanger I couldn't pass up.
> 
> I'm reasonably sure there won't be a 7-month hiatus before the next part.


	4. no way to make a living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sorcerers are not to be trifled with and there is a thrilling conclusion.

"I don't really know myself, but, ah…"

The girl in the mirror glanced to the side before her image distorted. There was a split second where her eyes froze wide with shock, whites showing all around rose-colored irises, and then the picture flew apart and clouded over with an impenetrable fog.

Midorima was already reciting the words to send a renewed surge of magic into the spell. His incantation was quick and precise, perfect in execution, but even with a considerable boost of power the fogged mirror never cleared. The connection refused to go through. Rather than hitting a wall, his magic emptied into dead space where it touched on something distinctly cold and unpleasant. 

Trap sprung, the counter-curse snaked its way back to him with striking speed. It bled black all over the glass and seeped along the silver edges to the point of threatening to overflow from the frame. But at last it was stopped, held at bay by the natural defenses built into the house, leaving only a void of deep darkness that reflected nothing and swallowed everything, even the smallest speck of light. As a tool the mirror was rendered useless, but it was a common object that could be replaced. No other harmful effects were sustained. A lesser sorcerer—or one who did not renew his security spells on a regular basis—might not have been so lucky.

A mere witch of inconsequential power, even one as exacting and clever as Momoi, stood no chance against someone of this caliber. Not even with a little help from her conspicuously bloodied friend, and that reminder made Midorima's taped fingers clench around the papaya-scented candle cradled in his left hand. Administering the Conclave's justice upon the kidnapper was one thing, a routine matter of doing his job ("smiting," as Momoi had put it in her silly, careless way), but this became something else entirely if he had to correct certain information leaks. There were measures in place to address such an issue, a list of preordained steps to take, and if some people considered those methods extreme it was only because they were necessary.

Midorima had taken oaths to do whatever was necessary.

With one last, contemptuous glare at the blackened mirror, he turned away. First things first. He had a target to pin down. Momoi's information could be put to good use, better than he'd let on during his conversation with her in case of listening ears. "Takao!"

Feathers rustled nearby, never too far, as much a part of Midorima's immediate environment as his lucky item. Takao colored the sound with a gleeful cackle. "About time. I've always wanted to save a damsel in distress."

The pinch of chagrin across Midorima's face was equally familiar. "This is _not_ a rescue attempt. Subduing the target and bringing him to justice is our top priority, you would do well to remember."

Never one to conform to the expected, Takao's expression took on a sly, crooked slant that made Midorima twitch. "Sure, sure, I'll remember for both of us. I guess you'll want to find the guy first."

"I _will_ find him. The conclusion is already settled, it's only a matter of fulfilling that destiny." Carefully tucking his lucky item into the crook of his arm, he wasted no time unraveling the white tape from his hand as he swept out into the villa's inner courtyard. They'd had fair weather all week, and it served him well today. Sunlight caught in the clear water of a small pond that would suit his needs. Midorima knelt in the shade of a fruit-laden lemon tree, set his candle aside, and dipped the tips of his fingers in the cool water. "Takao, I'll need you in the air."

"Roger that." Wings unfurled, crowding the courtyard with their immense span. They kicked up a large gust of wind that sent small waves lapping across the pond before taking flight, and Takao's human-shaped shadow on the ground morphed into the streamlined silhouette of a bird. He rose up high in the air, and then, with a raptor's piercing cry, shot down with unerring accuracy through the doorway that connected to the portal in Tokyo. From what Midorima had heard, the library staff had grown accustomed to the sporadic appearances of a hawk within the building, some even speculating that a kami had taken residence there. They weren't completely wrong, but if Takao ever decided to settle elsewhere he'd choose someplace with a better vantage point, and not a "stuffy, bookish cave," as he put it.

Allowing for the magic of the translocation to settle, Midorima could then return to his task at hand. Power answered his appeal, flowing from his fingertips until the bottom of the pool turned light instead of dark. His reflection became clearer, as did the image of the tree above his head, and the field of blue sky beyond that. Once the water's surface was polished smooth with mirror brightness, he could begin the real spell.

It wasn't very different from the seeing spell he'd tried before. The incantation was longer, more complicated, to accommodate the larger scale and lack of corresponding medium on the other side. Sheer power was required to create the window through which he could see.

New images rose into view from the depths of the water, overlaid by distracting reflections. A deft adjustment made the unnecessary parts transparent, and allowed him to focus on the bird's eye view of the city taking shape. He narrowed the field down around a selected block of gray buildings. Between them, a russet-colored form blew outwards in the wake of an opening door, startling many a passerby, and took to the sky with the flourish of a true show-off.

Takao's panache was lost on Midorima. "Head west," he ordered, expanding the view to trace a path in green light that his partner would have no trouble following. "We'll start with the park where Momoi was taken."

#

It must have rained recently in Tokyo; the air was cool and there weren't as many warm updrafts to pleasantly billow beneath his open wings, but it was still decent flying weather. Better than freaking sandstorms, at any rate. There were times when Takao swore he could still taste dust in the back of his throat and feel the grit stuck between his feathers.

"Anything in particular I'm looking for?" He looped a figure eight above the park entrance while Midorima's magic worked through their bond, the pulsing sensation of it as steady and unnoticed as his own heartbeat. Takao had already found Momoi's trail, picking up on the lingering remnants of her aura and relaying the information so Midorima could map it out. The real world was unaffected, but to Takao's eyes Momoi's path was now a faintly glowing pink that came to an abrupt end at the curb. Chances of him finding her current location like this were slim even if he combed over the entire city and surrounding countryside, but fortunately, she wasn't alone. The more factors involved, the more pieces Takao had to work with. Keeping track of them all was simple as long as he had a wide enough view.

"Yes," Midorima said in answer to the question, though more snappish than usual. The sound of his voice carried through their link with every nuance intact, easily bringing to mind his bladed glare and the disdainful slant of his mouth. He was lucky it was a good look for him, considering how often he wore it. "You're looking for the _target_." 

People assumed that Takao must have developed an immunity to Midorima's difficult and eccentric personality, but Takao begged to differ with a long-suffering sigh, eyes rolled heavenward: he'd been born to this fate. He wasn't always happy about it, but if he hadn't flown the coop yet he wasn't likely to do so ever. A part of him simply couldn't let the prickly sorcerer be, and that impenetrable tone just now made Takao cease his playful circling to hover in the air. He may not be able to physically stare Midorima in the eye, but he could give that impression. "What's up, Shin-chan?"

There was a pause, though Takao could feel the link remain open and didn't miss the tiniest of skips in its fixed beat before Midorima's curt answer came through. "Here," he said, and without further preamble a malevolently dark sign wove into existence before Takao's eyes. It was all webbed lines threading into a recognizable family crest. "This is who we're after."

Feathers ruffling, Takao suddenly had to flap harder in order to stay aloft. "Whoa, hold up. I'm not doubting you, but isn't there, like, miles of red tape to get through before we can so much as eyeball someone from that family?"

"I'm prepared to do whatever's necessary to catch him before another victim is taken."

_Aww, hell._ Regaining his composure, Takao would have grinned if he'd been in human shape, fire to Midorima's steel. "You know I can't resist when you get all determined, Shin-chan!"

He imagined that faint sound on the wind was Midorima grinding his teeth.

Scrutinizing the park again, there might have been some of that sinister energy lingering around, although it was impossible to be sure. "Man, he really covers his tracks well."

"Well, it _is_ their family specialty."

"Yeah, that plus making my skin crawl." Takao's instincts wanted nothing to do with that particular aura for reasons a hawk didn't question, but unfortunately for him, throwing his lot in with Midorima came with baggage. He was a grown bird, though, not a hatchling afraid to leave the nest. There hadn't been a single moment when he regretted making their pact. With that mind, he angled his wings to peel away from the park. "I'll take a look around then. What about the vampire?"

"What _about_ him?"

"Oookay, sorry for asking."

"…I'm working on it." 

"I'm sure you'll find something!"

"Hmph," was all Midorima had to say about that. His lack of scathing response was evidence of his attention turning to the task at hand. Conversation would only be a distraction now.

Using the park as his starting point, Takao gradually spiraled outward. This was the second time he'd searched this area after Konoe first went missing and he noted the new details—mainly thanks to Momoi's contributions that lent insight to the original victim's movements. Comparing to what he knew of the other sites, there were some similarities, but the fact that the target could grab his victims in any crowded place was overwhelmingly disheartening. 

"He likes toying with people," Momoi had said, unable to suppress a tight shudder before soldiering on. "He chooses public places to construct a sense of safety. It's very effective on magic-users because we're a secretive lot; to us an ordinary crowd is for the most part a non-magic zone. Pulling stunts in the open like he does is inconceivable. By controlling the environment like that, he catches his victims at their most unguarded, and also increases the impact of their helplessness. He's clever, I'll give him that, but maximizing their despair—that's just his idea of fun."

Takao didn't fault Midorima for risking the Conclave's wrath by going straight after this guy. Professional pride could go extraordinarily far where Midorima was concerned, and he wasn't the youngest magistrate in the history of the Asian Branch for nothing, but Takao had a feeling they were about to reach new heights with this case. He would bet it had something to do with the flat pitch of Momoi's voice as she'd concluded her analysis, brittle objectivity covering an open wound. That was enough to light a fire under his own feathered ass, for sure.

Throughout his flight he chased down fleeting traces of their target's aura, and then Midorima determined their relevancy to the case, tagging them appropriately. Soon Midorima added the results of his own research: spots of color to note the favored locations of numerous family members. Takao had no idea how he got his hands on that kind of information so quickly, but he was impressed with the brazenness. Between the two of them their map was growing increasingly colorful, although it had taken on a daunting global scale. He began to keep an eye out for transportation portals, and every once in a while Midorima would direct him to a specific site to examine more closely.

That was how he came to be circling above a magically concealed bar, closed and empty judging by the darkened windows but he'd have to enter the field of the spell to be absolutely certain, and Takao wasn't too keen on that prospect.

"Eh? Wait a minute…" The spell was good, he had to admit, but nothing escaped his eyes, including the broken glass glinting on the ground and the matching hole smashed through the door's window panel. "Shin-chan, look at this."

"Don't take any unnecessary risks," Midorima warned.

Takao scoffed. "This isn't my first rodeo. But what do you make of it?"

"An anomaly," he grumped, then added with reluctant intrigue, "but worth investigating. Don't touch the spell, but sweep the area."

"Roger!" He widened his circles, but didn't get very far when he spotted them across the street, half a block up. Takao was something of a hunter himself, he recognized the position of someone lying in wait. They were seated at an outdoor café table that offered them an angled view of the front of the bar, the remains of a leisurely lunch scattered in front of them. One had his phone out and was typing away, while the other slouched with his armed crossed and head tipped back, eyes almost closed but for a thin sliver that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn't a hawk. The faux sleeper's lips moved around a word—a name, which got his companion's attention as well as Takao's because that was a name he'd heard before. "…Hey, aren't those Satsuki-chan's friends?"

A hunter and a fox staking out one of Midorima's key locations. Well, well, well.

" _Don't_ ," Midorima ordered with such force that made Takao wobble off-kilter for a second. "This doesn't concern outsiders."

"Oh, come on. What if they know something? They're here after all."

"This is a delicate matter. I hate to imagine the disaster if a loose-cannon hunter got involved."

"What happened to 'whatever's necessary (nanodayo)', huh?"

"That and this are unrelated—"

"Uh-oh." A pair of very awake, and very suspicious blue eyes were trained on him. "My bad, I think it's too late now." Takao couldn't help but recall one of the many rumors surrounding Aomine Daiki; how the hotshot unaffiliated hunter had utterly destroyed a whole nest of harpies by himself—and harpies were mean bitches that no smart, self-respecting hawk would ever tangle with. "Umm, I think I should go make friends before this turns into a really bad game of Duck Hunt."

"Do as you will," Midorima said with the kind of petulance that required a foot stomp to complete the effect. 

"Oh, man." Takao hesitated and hovered with deep foreboding. "Can't you magic up a letter of introduction for me real quick?"

Icy silence was his only answer. 

Takao sighed. "Right. Let's see if I can get through this without it ending in taxidermy."

#

There wasn't the slightest bit of doubt in Momoi's mind that they were dealing with a twisted sorcerer whose sadism knew no bounds. After being discovered (and how that rankled, the shame of falling for the trap festering in a corner of her thoughts) she'd managed to stop cowering long enough to put up a token fight. Gathering power had been easy, all she'd needed to do was dip into the magic and come up casting, but that hadn't been enough. Her knowledge of battle magic was strictly theoretical with zero practical experience. So she did what anyone would do with an unfamiliar weapon in her hands: wield it with clumsy, blunt force.

Suffice to say, that had been pathetically ineffective. Her opponent had cut clean through her efforts sporting an amused smirk, and with a single, dreaded touch, she'd slipped into blackness.

When she awoke not much later she was alone in the cellar again, Kuroko nowhere in sight. The chain to her wrist shackles remained broken, but that was an empty comfort when she realized she couldn't use her magic. Not the smallest bit, not a trickle, not a drop.

She could still feel it, though, and that was the worst part. All that newfound power was still around her, a sea she floated in, but it would not answer her most earnest pleas. She was helpless in its midst. What once was a comforting cradle now threatened to drown her.

_Oh, stop that,_ Momoi told herself, blinking back frustrated tears. She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. _So you can't use any magic. So what? You've lived most of your life without it. Come on, get a grip, Satsuki._ Her internal monologue was beginning to take on Aomine's annoyed tone whenever he had something to bitch about, and automatically that triggered her into management mode. A firm hand settled her mounting hysteria—she didn't sweep her feelings under the carpet, but merely set them aside to deal with later, once her work was done.

Momoi took stock of her resources. Besides magic, she had other assets at her disposal; there was her intelligence, first and foremost. Her mind remained clear and there was a low chance of that changing unless it was by her own doing. The sick son of a bitch messing with her wanted her to be fully aware of what was going on, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of falling to pieces.

Second, her hands were free. Her strength may not be on par with a vampire's but she wasn't completely defenseless. Early on, Aomine had tried to teach her how to hold her own in a fight—"tried" being the operative word, and the failure of those lessons wasn't entirely his fault. There was no way to explain, let alone reproduce the sheer instinct he possessed. So Momoi took proper self-defense classes instead, and all she learned from Aomine was how hard to drive the stake. 

The floor was still littered with ceramic shards from the water bowl, but they were too small to pierce all the way to the heart. Nonetheless, they were a resource, and Momoi slipped a few pieces into her pocket.

Clambering up onto her feet, she shuffled around to study every inch of the room for the second time since she'd arrived here. The windows were too high for her to reach, but she could examine them more closely when—if—Kuroko returned. If the glass was ordinary and miraculously unspelled, she could even break them with the heavy cuff of metal around her wrist, however unlikely that option was.

She stood at the foot of the stairs and peered up at the door at the top. It was both bolted and magicked shut, but the fact that she could sense the spell was something to think about. Of course, being attuned to a power she couldn't reach was painful, which was just the way this bastard wanted her to feel, but there was an advantage buried within. She could use this.

With a process and short-term goal in mind, Momoi went about identifying every spell she could detect. There were plenty to choose from. Going back to the window, she concentrated on the panel of glass and the frame surrounding it.

There it was. Weaker than the one on the door, but the windows and even the walls were subtly magicked. It wasn't a proper barrier, more like a web of defenses built into the house—Midorima had once referred to something like that regarding his fancy home-away-from-home. She'd filed the information away to research on her own later, and her understanding was that it functioned as a super security system (although Midorima would protest most vehemently against that description). Momoi defended her much more modest house by growing plants with protective properties and making simple charms to ward off danger and ill intent. She'd never needed more than that. After this, she'd have to think about investing in something a little stronger. Normally she'd lean on Midorima for advice, pushing as far as she dared, but that… seemed like an option that was closing its doors on her.

Her heart sank in her chest, the weight of it dragging her shoulders into a slouch, chin dropping in a shamefaced downturn. She'd pushed too far, right up to the line, and then had been careless enough to trip over it. The circumstances were almost funny, but apparently Momoi didn't have it in her to be a calculating, callous witch who'd use whatever means necessary to climb to the top. She could live with losing a resource or two. Losing a friend was a different matter, even if it was a little one-sided.

_Now you're just pitying yourself. Poor little witch, all alone in the world—you don't have time for this._ Steeling herself, Momoi shoved the weight of regret off to the side along with everything else she couldn't afford to be distracted by right now. _Focus, Satsuki, focus._

She threw herself into her search again. Nothing was too insignificant for her to examine, though the most glaring abnormality to be found was the trap door. The entire floor of the cellar, actually, appeared to have an additional layer of protection, but it was thickest around that square hatch. It made the spell on the door look like an amateur's doing.

"What could you be hiding down there, I wonder?" She crouched down and felt over the floorboards with her hand. Her eyes alone couldn't perceive anything, but she felt the energies laced into the wood.

_Or_ , another thought occurred to her, cold and treacherous, _what doesn't he want to get out?_

Momoi's hand faltered. There was no sound to be heard in the silence of the cellar except for her increasingly frenetic breathing. Swallowing down her anxiety to more manageable levels (because there was no squashing it completely, it thudded in the back of her throat), she resumed her painstakingly thorough search of the room. There was little else for her to find, though. Perhaps a more experienced sorcerer could read the patterns of magic all around her, but Momoi was at a loss. She cemented them in her memory to study later, maybe see if Kuroko had anything to contribute from his unusual fount of knowledge. For now, she sat down against the wall where she could keep both the stairs and the trap door within easy sight.

#

Kuroko was not fond of this new habit of waking up in unfamiliar places—although the sight of the atelier wasn't entirely unknown, which meant he was still in the house. Whether that was good or bad for him had yet to be revealed. At present, he was lying across a padded bench under the windows with the curtains thankfully drawn, blanketing the room in bearable darkness. Once he oriented himself Kuroko estimated it was getting late into the afternoon. Almost a full 24 hours had passed since this misadventure had started with a fox and a raw liver. Momoi was a less bothersome partner than Kise, at least, though a bit too discerning as well. So maybe he'd call it even.

Momoi was as safe as she could be in this situation. The bond wasn't a very strong one, which was only to be expected with a stranger who had no relation to him, but Kuroko was confident he would at least notice if she came to harm. He might not be able to do much about it, but that had never stopped him from trying.

"Finally awake again, I see." The sorcerer jotted something down at his desk. Then, with a wicked grin, he waved a hand towards a row of bottles. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you." 

"Your loss. I won't have you starving on me, though." There were no sharp instruments in his hands this time; instead he cradled a steaming mug of coffee, and even that rich scent was barely discernible amid the many others of the workshop. 

Magic and blood—some of it was Kuroko's own, drying sticky on his face. Self-conscious, his fingers drifted up to smudge the lines. The move was purely cosmetic; disturbing the crest wouldn't affect the spell after it had been cast, but there was no reason for him to parade it like something to be proud of, and especially not in the presence of his ominous company. The sorcerer made no move to stop him and watched with keen interest in his black eyes.

"It's so simple, isn't it?" A low chuckle bubbled in the back of his throat. "It's stupidly simple. A fucking moron could perform that spell. It's only the main ingredient that's so rare."

Here at last was the heart of the matter. Looking him straight in the eye, Kuroko said, "I'll cooperate if you let Momoi-san go."

"How noble." An ugly smile twisted the sorcerer's face. He set his coffee aside, freeing his dangerous hands. "Unfortunately for you, your consent isn't necessary. I could carve my mark into you anytime, over and over until it was inlaid in your _bones_ , and then I would be able to wield such sorcery that hasn't been seen, hasn't been _possible_ for generations. Other fools have spent their entire lives failing to grasp such power. I would be without compare."

Kuroko's hands were still bound in front of his body. He was about four steps away from the table with the knife. Even at his maximum speed, he wouldn't be fast enough. "Nonetheless," he said, unwavering, "I will not make it easy for you."

The sorcerer's knowing gaze slid to the table. "You could try, it might be amusing." He picked up the favored blade. It had been cleaned since he'd used it last, and his hands were also an unstained white. Visually spotless, but memory and scent told a different story. The knife set leveled Kuroko's throat with a silver-edged caress. "So go ahead and try."

Whether or not the invitation was a trap didn't matter. Kuroko made a grab for the arm holding the knife. The tip of it cut a line of red across his neck before being forcibly angled downward, towards a heart beating so heavily it was sure to make a fine target. He had just this one thing to bargain with—the sorcerer himself admitted that Kuroko wasn't of any use dead. Before Kuroko could drag it low enough, though, their grappling came to an end when the knife scraped over his collarbone and was stabbed prematurely too high up on his chest. The blade buried in just below his shoulder. His fingers slipped in the sudden flow of blood.

Then the sorcerer was pulling the knife free, his face lit up with delight as he laughed, "A valiant effort, but too bad." He wrapped his hand under Kuroko's jaw with bruising force, the chill of a spell freezing him in place, and with a twist of the sorcerer's wrist he brandished the scarlet-painted blade. "Just like this," he marveled. "I make my mark, I say the words, and you're mine." 

Kuroko gasped for air. He didn't need it to live, but it still hurt when he couldn't breathe. Being able to survive extraordinary abuse didn't mean he was spared from ordinary pain, and his wounded shoulder was driving that point home with an insistent blaze of agony. It would take more than a handful of minutes for that to heal.

"Yes," the sorcerer said, drawing the word out in a sibilant hiss. "This will work perfectly."

Kuroko braced himself for the kiss of the knife, but the branding never came. Instead, the tight grip on his neck loosened, and the spell released with a shatter that left his skin tingling under an assault of invisible pinpricks. He collapsed to his knees, palm pressed against his shoulder, teeth locked in a fanged grimace as he shivered off the remnants of the spell and bled warm through its cracks. Throughout it all he kept his gaze aimed on at the sorcerer who smiled above him. "Why?" he couldn't help but ask, because Momoi was right, this was a man who took pleasure in the havoc he wreaked, but his complex webs had to be spun with more than one thread.

"'Why'?" The word echoed back at him with a mocking lilt. "Perhaps your observational skills were exaggerated. Do I look like the type that craves power and glory? That's the ambition of a simple-minded fool." He scoffed derisively into his coffee, lounging against a shelf that housed an array of bottles much like After Dark's bar. Most were liquid-filled, the common blood and viscera, yet others were gaseous, toxic, magical—a menu that catered to a broad range of tastes. The idea itself wasn't new, but only a rare few could make it into a lucrative business.

_That's it._ Blood dribbled from the cut on Kuroko's neck, soaking his collar, and oozed sluggish between his fingers. Drops of it spattered upon the wood floor. Losing consciousness from this was a toss-up, but he struggled to stay focused. "Is selling to the highest bidder that much better?"

"You tell me."

Well, if they were speaking in terms of commodity now… "Supply and demand." The homunculi, the kidnappings, they were all just components. Experimental. Pieces of a mixed-up jigsaw puzzle. The question became: how many of those pieces did Kuroko hold (or could convincingly _claim_ to hold)? He steadied himself with a deep breath. "Let Momoi-san go, and I'll tell you how Akashi-kun and I were made."

"This again? Your concern for that witch is so touching I could strangle a puppy." He flexed one long-fingered hand. "I thought I'd been clear before: no bargaining."

"I've been interrogated by worse than you," Kuroko said, expressionless. "I am sincerely not bragging. As for compulsion spells…" He ignored the lance of pain through his shoulder when he shrugged. "You are welcome to try."

The twitching of the sorcerer's hand ceased. He did not refute the statement, even though a normal second generation vampire should not possess a significant resistance to compulsion magic. By the sudden appearance of a scowl on the sorcerer's face, Kuroko guessed that the point had already been proven, and the only other vampire it could have been proven on was Akashi.

He spared a moment to be annoyed at the mess his sire had left for him to deal with. Akashi was usually better at tying up loose ends than this. Unless they were collaborating as Momoi suggested, but that led to a whole other tangle of thoughts that Kuroko didn't have the time to examine.

"Very well," the sorcerer said crisply, lines of vicious displeasure still inscribed on his features. "If magic won't work, and if literally spilling your guts won't work, here's a deal for you: tell me what I want to know, and I won't make her scream."

"No deal." A deadened feeling began hollowing Kuroko out, preparing him for the worst and forcing him to choose. There was no way out of this that was clean and easy. "She goes completely free before I say anything."

"How badly do you want to spare one trivial girl?"

"How badly do you want this information?" 

Pushing much further was dangerous. He was already overreaching with his bluff, armed with just his poker face and a century and a half of pure nerve. Kuroko had lived this long betting his own life, he could only hope to be comparatively lucky with Momoi's.

After a weighted pause, the sorcerer's lip curled and the threat of violence receded into his thin frame, contained—reluctantly—for the interim. "This is pointless. Have it your way, brat. I suppose you'll want proof that she's safe?"

"Please."

"Of course, it would be my _pleasure_." His condescension was so thick it was a wonder he didn't gag on it. With a snap of his fingers, the door promptly opened. "Hiroshi. Kazuya. We're going to have a little viewing party. Tell Kojirou to get the witch, and be a fucking gentleman about it, we're not to skimp on the manners for our guests."

The two exchanged a look, wary of their master's apparent snit, but apparently used to it as the blond replied around a mouthful of bubblegum, "Sure thing. Will that be all?"

The sorcerer went to a large mirror hanging on the far wall. He dipped a finger into a small jar and sketched a sign over the glass. "Kojirou is to unbind her, return her belongings, and let her go. With our regards. Be polite, mind." Tapping against the surface of the mirror, the spell emitted a glow. "Give her a tour of the place if she likes. Offer refreshments. Maybe a complimentary mint. And then," his reflection locked gazes with Kuroko, razor grin in place, "tear into her soft throat with abandon, and don't stop until I say."

Anger burned ice cold instead of blazing hot, freezing Kuroko's expression blank in the face of the cruel taunt, and numbing the cascade of regret and fear and despair. "I see," he said, soft and dull without feeling. He wasn't fooling the sorcerer. It would have to be enough to not please him, then.

Kuroko felt along the intangible bond that connected him to Momoi. There was little he could do from his end, it was an ancient spell crafted to be as one-sided as possible, but maybe if he could somehow warn her so she'd have a fighting chance…

He was so intent on what he was doing, at first he barely registered the sorcerer's offhand snarl. "What now? Ah, it seems we have an uninvited guest. Aren't we popular today. Show me."

At his command, the mirror's reflection faded out. When the new images took shape, it was not Momoi showing up in the picture, but the friend she'd contacted with Kuroko's help. Stern-faced, he came alone up the path to the house, and stopped in front well away from the door. There was no need to knock; he only looked up and called out, "Hanamiya Makoto, present yourself before the Conclave's justice."

The sorcerer's response was a snort of laughter, followed by a deprecating sneer. "The magistrate came in person? Well, I suppose it's not an unexpected twist. A bit premature, but he is young after all. Change of plans, boys." Business-like, he faced his two henchmen. "Forget the witch, we only need this one. I'll go entertain the upstart while you get away. Tell Kojirou to inform Seto. Oh, and take the side exit by the kitchen, it seems the rear is being headed off." A roll of the eyes. "These magistrates are so _by the book_ , it's no wonder the Conclave has become a festering useless lot."

"Got it, boss."

"As for you," Hanamiya went down in front of Kuroko, hand extended with magic filling his palm. "Goodnight for now."

The thing about sorcerers, Kuroko had found, was that they may have had their unique quirks, and some were more ambitious than others, but they all liked to stick with what they knew. Specialties were closely guarded as a matter of pride. There was an element of predictability to that, and in this, Hanamiya was no exception.

If he'd used the freeze spell again, Kuroko would have succumbed to it instantly, but the magic that settled over him was the same kind he'd already been hit with multiple times in a span of 24 hours. He'd been gassed with it, he'd imbibed it, he'd been touched by it directly. This was the fourth occurrence. Four times might not have been enough under normal circumstances, but he also happened to be bonded to someone else at the moment, and the nature of that spell was a jealous one. Compulsion spells weren't the only magic he could resist.

Kuroko let his eyes close and body go limp, thudding to the floor. His breathing evened out. Inwardly he still fought off the effects of the spell which was combined on top of his injury and general state of exhaustion. Night was falling, though, which would aid him. He remained conscious while hands grabbed at him and hauled him up, carrying him away.

#

The sky was clear without a cloud in sight, and the moon was already a pale disc showing faintly above a fading orange horizon. The previous day's storm had brought the humidity levels down significantly, and the wind was against him. They were not the best conditions for Midorima if it came down to a battle, a fact that dug under his skin like a splinter that would not be ignored. It was as if he was being warned, or punished, for daring to show up here at all.

His bare fingers curled around nothing, though they still smelled faintly of papaya and wax. Takao was responsible for the safekeeping of his lucky item, and he wasn't far, just on the other side of the house with strict orders to linger at the edge of the spell field, close enough to make his presence known but going no further than that. With circumstances as they were, things were bound to get messy.

Midorima despised messes, but failure was even more unacceptable.

Hanamiya did not keep him waiting for long. Good. No doubt the man would enjoy watching Midorima make a fool of himself, so his timely response suggested he'd not been prepared. They were both to be fools, then, because Hanamiya came out alone, arms spread in exaggerated welcome.

"Midorima-kun, isn't it? Wow, what an honor."

"Spare me the sickening pleasantries. You are charged with the abduction of six individuals and the exploitative use of magic that could endanger civilians—as well as other crimes, I'm sure, which will come to light through interrogation and confiscation of your research."

"Hah, you're exactly how your reputation paints you." Hanamiya's smile widened, stretching beyond the relaxed lines of friendliness and into slit-eyed delight. Silkily, he said, "Putting aside your complete lack of evidence for now, under whose authority have you come here?"

An ember sparked and glowed hot where Midorima's pride was, slowly but steadily burning. "Under _my_ authority as magistrate, which grants me the right to administer the Conclave's judgment."

"Ah, yes, the catch-all promotional jingle used to lure unsuspecting young men and women into a thankless, tiresome job. Good for you. But I seem to recall a clause stating that the Conclave's official sanction is needed before charging a person of… certain repute." He waved a hand in a facsimile of modesty, at odds with the eager way his lips skimmed back from his teeth. "Now, my great-grandmother is getting on in her years, so I'd understand not bothering her with such trivial matters, but does my father know you're here to represent him, Midorima-kun?"

The ember grew into a flame. He nurtured its warmth with a sure touch, letting it spread and fill him while he recited, "Members of the Conclave, or their family members, are not exempt from the law. Article 7, Section 4, Clause 12; under extenuating circumstances upon which the safety and secrecy of the Community is at risk, the Magistrate may act freely and with mitigated consequence if his or her judgment is decreed sound by the Conclave post hoc."

" _Really._ " Hanamiya's shoulders shook and he made no effort to disguise his snicker. "You'd put me on par with an apocalyptic catastrophe? I'm flattered."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's been some concern over the disappearance of Konoe Hikari. 'Hell on Earth' would be an apt way to describe her mother's current state, and what she's likely to do to the person responsible."

"Really," Hanamiya repeated, tone suddenly subdued, his amusement spooling to wrap tight and neat around him, worn with the ease of a fitted skin. He was smiling, but in control. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope the poor girl is found… soon."

Fire roared in Midorima's ears, raging to be set free. He began channeling that power into the air around him. "Yes," he said with narrow, flinty eyes. "I hope so as well."

The energies around Hanamiya fluctuated in kind. "You know, it's a shame. So many magistrates buckle under their own weight. They go after their targets with such dogged tenacity, howling about justice, straining against leash and collar… and when they bite the wrong person, that's it for them. Bad dogs must be put down, and that's so sad."

_If it's sad, why are you grinning?_ The palm of Midorima's hand heated, power tingling through it, ready to be released. Ready to strike down the target that had plagued the community for months, and was surely dabbling in the most forbidden of arts if Momoi's information was correct (and it always was, providing him with plenty justification for his actions, thanks to her). Hanamiya was correct about one thing: there was a mad dog here, but it wasn't Midorima. "If Konoe is beyond saving," he began, speaking with clearest intent, "no one will care if I reduce you to a black scorch mark on this Earth. Rather, they would thank me."

"Threats, now?" Hanamiya's power was gathered close. His family favored defensive magic of a subtle nature, and Midorima had already experienced its nasty bite from the safety of his own home. Here, on enemy grounds, he was all too aware of being the fly caught in the spider's web. Hanamiya didn't close on him immediately, didn't make the first move—not outwardly, at least. He waited it out, readied his barbs. "Careful not to discredit your station, Midorima-kun. But if you do insist… take your best shot."

Midorima had this advantage: distance, staying too far away for the close and unsavory personal tricks Hanamiya had used on Momoi. Midorima lifted his hand, fingers outstretched, and the white-hot flash of lightning crackled from them, arching with pinpoint accuracy towards his target.

The bolt splintered around Hanamiya, threads of electricity crawling around his shield, trying to find a way in to no avail. His face was lit up with shocks of brightness, his laughter muffled under the boom and sizzle of impact. His words, though, those dripped venomously through the gaps of noise. "Konoe wasn't enough to bring you here, reduce you to this. You're too careful for that. It was the other one, wasn't it? I didn't realize what a useful thing I had in my hands when I grabbed her."

"Is that a confession?" Currents of energy rushed through him in an unbroken flow. This was quickly descending into a battle of stamina, and with the weather against him, Midorima was not going to bet on coming out the winner. He dialed back on the power, maintaining just enough of an assault to keep Hanamiya pinned down and focused on shielding, while he shaped a second spell. 

"I admit," Hanamiya said, composure intact, though chances were he was dividing his attention similar to Midorima, "you've made me push my plans ahead a little, but that changes nothing. You have quite a lot to lose, don't you? Failing to bring me in, failing to save Konoe, not to mention your smart little friend. Can you handle being ruined by all that?"

If necessary, Midorima could build a third spell, simultaneous with the other two. It would be easier with Takao's help, but this battle was no place for a hawk. He'd have to grit his teeth and make do. "Fortunately for me, losing isn't an option."

"Is that so?" Hanamiya snapped his fingers and a spell shivered into existence. It wasn't aimed at Midorima, though. The thin thread of it made a line instantly toward the house, specific use unknown, but whatever it did turned Hanamiya's smile vicious. "We'll see about that."

#

Aomine was starting to think that Midorima had been bullshitting when he'd said to wait for his signal, and was about to head in anyway, screw the plan, when the darkening sky suddenly blazed and roared with an arc of light from the front of the house.

"Does that look like a signal to you?" He nudged Kise standing next to him at the treeline, just beyond the spell field encircling the house. Midorima had been specific about that point, as well as the waiting, for high-handed reasons that Aomine translated as, "You might as well go in half-cocked instead of thoroughly fucked." Well, whatever. He had a six-inch combat knife sheathed at his belt, energy to spare from weeks of poor hunting, and a bone to pick with someone who thought it would be a good idea to pursue a career in supervillainy. And people thought _his_ life choices were bad. "It looks like a signal to me."

Kise flicked his hair out of his eyes, and the mottled bruise on his face was giving the sunset a run for its money. His sunglasses dangled precariously from his collar when he leaned forward in anticipation. "Yeah, I'd say that's a signal. Shall we?" 

"What, you're coming, too? Weren't you almost eaten last time?"

"Details." Kise waved a hand started across the scrupulously trimmed grass with a model-worthy saunter. "Besides, I can't lose to you."

Aomine's long strides matched his easily. Stupid fox got competitive over the weirdest things, but arguing was too much of a bother. "Do what you want. Just stay out of my way."

"Sheesh, good thing I don't like you for your personality."

"Good thing I don't like you."

Kise opened his mouth, but all that came out was an, "ow!" when the back of Aomine's hand smacked into his face.

"Here." Opening his fingers, Aomine let the switchblade dangle and dropped it into Kise's outstretched palm.

"Thanks… I think." He rubbed his nose while giving the small knife a cursory glance. The four-inch blade would get the job done provided Kise's aim was true—and that wasn't going to be a problem judging by the way he flicked the knife open with a smooth motion learned from watching Aomine do the same. He had a steady hand and good eye under pressure (when it counted), not to mention certain instincts that surfaced every now and then just to make life interesting. There were worse people to have at his side.

Kise didn't need to know that, though. Aomine picked his pace and tossed out, "If you get another black eye or worse, I'm not saving you from your manager's wrath."

"Why do I even put up with you?"

The answer was clearly, "for the great sex," but they'd just arrived at the house—which was a lot bigger than it had looked from a distance, and excessively dramatic with the backdrop of whatever lightshow was going on out front. Aomine forgot whatever he was going to say and whistled at the three-storey mansion with its huge windows and multiple balconies and swimming pool with a Jacuzzi. "Hey, when are you going to be rich enough to afford a place like this?"

"Not in _your_ lifetime," Kise said, sounding less awestruck and more absent-minded. He tended to adopt that tone whenever he let his words get away from him, thoughts somewhere else and the rest of him on autopilot. "But tell you what, a few centuries down the road I'll be sure to enjoy a drink at my full service bar with a bevy of gravure models in your honor."

Aomine's footsteps were silent as he crossed the patio, but only by force of habit because he didn't bother to keep his voice down. "You won't even summon up my ghost or something to join in? Rude."

"Your creaky old ghost would spoil the mood."

"What if I die young and hot?" Aomine tested the sliding door and found it locked. It was cute how that tried to deter him. He raised his knife to smash through the glass that reflected Kise's complicated expression as the conversation started to sink in—but there was no time for that. Despite appearances, they weren't here to play. Magic tickled against Aomine, but Midorima had insisted on chanting some hocus pocus over him beforehand so whatever spell was inlaid here failed to activate horrendous consequences, allowing him to pass through unharmed. 

The inside of the house was just as impressive as the outside. "Shit," Aomine said, taking in the sprawling, indulgent interior that scoffed at "classy," bypassed "luxurious," and dove straight into "stinking, filthy rich." He went from enormous room to even more enormous room, and found all of them empty. The place was a freakin' palace with the deserted creepiness of a ghost town. Nothing looked lived-in, opulent style overrode function. Feeling like he was standing inside a glossy magazine spread, Aomine concluded that sorcerers were a seriously weird bunch and he hoped Momoi never became like that.

He opened and closed doors—of which there were far too many, who actually needed this many rooms?—looking for the fabled cellar where he was supposed to find a very put-out witch. He could already hear her strident nagging about his search-and-rescue technique, could already picture the exact angle of her stubbornly lowered chin and the way her cheeks would puff out when he avoided her blurry-eyed gaze to pick at his ear with an offhand dismissal. There was a 50/50 chance she'd cry. That was where Kise came in. Kise's response to tears was to turn on his own waterworks, and then Aomine could be annoyed instead of uncomfortable before he got down to business burning the whole house to the ground.

"Find anything?" He passed through a dining room (one of two so far).

"Kitchen," Kise announced from somewhere unseen. Moments later he added, "And a pantry that could feed all the starving children in Africa."

"Well, if we were here to solve world hunger then we'd be golden." The next hallway was nothing but a corridor of open space with a high, vaulted ceiling, and a second floor walkway along one wall. Paintings hung on the opposite side, a long row of portraits that Aomine swore were staring at him as he hurried by. "This is bullshit," he said, only to stop short both vocally and physically when he smacked into something at about chest height. "What the—"

The next thing Aomine registered was the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood as he drew his breath. His pulse kicked up with a shot of adrenaline and he launched himself back, reflex swinging the knife. Only then did he recognize the shock of pale blue in his sight, and just barely adjusted his aim to harmlessly shave off a few hairs from Kuroko's head before the vampire fell forward.

Without thinking, Aomine caught him with his free arm. There was a rush filling his ears, nerves on edge, taking everything in with acute attention to detail. Kuroko leaned on him heavily, not quite dead weight, but close. His whole frame labored to draw uneven breaths—deep, shuddering drags punctuated with short hitches. A familiar, sticky wetness seeped through the fabric of Aomine's shirt where Kuroko pressed against him. 

"Hey," Aomine said at last to break the quiet over the strange tableau they made.

Taking a moment to gather himself, Kuroko greeted him with the understatement of, "Aomine-kun. It's been a while." He tensed against Aomine in an attempt to push away, but that didn't work out too well for him. Aside from his harsh breathing he made no noise of pain, but Aomine felt the tremors of it shake between them in a sort of miniature earthquake that was too bothersome to ignore. His arm tightened as if that could make it stop.

"You—"

" _Kurokocchi!_ "

Several things happened at once.

At the same time that Kise shouted, footsteps pounded along the second floor walkway and skidded to a stop. "Found you, you little bastard!" A livid face snarled down from the balustrade with fangs bared, narrow-eyed glare zeroing in on Kuroko after passing over Aomine like a minor inconvenience at best. White-knuckled hands gripped the rail and muscles coiled, foot bracing upon the bar, and with a heave and a push the furious pursuer vaulted over.

Aomine spun, getting some rotation from the waist to fling Kuroko out of the way and straight into Kise, whose reflexes caught on before the rest of him. His eyes flew wide, but he did not stumble when the unexpected burden landed in his arms.

Then, rebalancing, and with no time to look, let alone aim, Aomine thrust up blindly with his knife. His free hand reinforced his grip just as the impact jarred all the way down both arms. There was a crack somewhere amid the meaty thud as ribs splintered around the blade. Aomine buckled under the propelled weight, but remained upright. The vampire did as well, for all of two seconds before sliding off the knife and hitting the floor on one knee, hand clutched to the wound in his chest that pumped red all over the marble floor. A look of wide-eyed rage flashed into disbelief, and a mouthful of teeth opened wide and lunged.

He never made it farther than where he stood. Strength was the first to go, all that animalistic power cut off in an instant, but they never remained in that weakened state for long. Dying vampires just… collapsed in on themselves They dried and crumbled in no more than a minute or two, starting from the heart, a cavity opening up as flesh and meat and bone disintegrated, spreading outward, until even the fingertips were little trails of dust. They usually died cursing him until their lungs could hold no more air and their vocal cords broke apart and their silent mouths flaked away. 

It was all more or less the same, no matter how many times. Aomine wiped the flat of his blade across his pant leg as a pair of accusing eyes wizened into nothing, and one more vampire ceased to exist in the world.

"Oh, shit!"

Aomine had his wrist cocked to throw the knife but the new figure on the walkway ducked back behind the corner with a choking sound. He peered out—as much as he could with a messy blond fringe getting in the way—but wasn't nearly as rash as his departed friend. "Shit," he repeated, and in a show of common sense, made a run for it.

"Tch." No stairs in sight. Giving chase would be a massive pain in this labyrinth. Aomine casually readjusted his hold on his weapon, listening for any other sounds to indicate a presence, but nothing else crept up on him. It was just the three of them for now.

Kise was kneeling over Kuroko, hand pressed to a bloody shoulder, apparently unfazed by the large stain spreading from it. Or maybe that wasn't entirely true; the long lines of Kise's body were taut and alert, his head canting slightly to acknowledge some hint of Aomine's approach, and his expression was stripped of its easy-come, easy-go looseness. He still wore a smile, but his tone was shades lower than his usual frivolous chirp when he leaned in to say, "Don't you wish you hadn't snuck out this morning?"

"I left a note." Kuroko was a mess from head to toe. The shoulder appeared to be the worst off, but if it hadn't killed him yet, it wasn't going to later. His hands were bound in front, heavy-duty with metal cuffs and chain. Another length of chain rattled between more restraints on his ankles. How the hell did Aomine not notice him until literally stumbling into him again? 

"I saw," Kise drawled, eyelids sinking to half-mast, but it would be a mistake to think his guard was lowering. "But next time you should say so in person."

"…I apologize for my rudeness."

Whatever Kise might have said next was muffled by Aomine's hand shoving against the side of his face. "Idiot, your fox is showing. And _you_ …" Aomine peeled Kise away, and then pulled apart the torn edges of Kuroko's shirt. There was a glancing cut across his collarbone, shallow enough that it was already healing closed, and a deeper stab wound below that, about an inch wide and who knew how many inches deep. It was bleeding everywhere, though, and if Kuroko wasn't a vampire he'd had lost consciousness by now. Or, more likely, been dead. "Didn't I warn you about finding yourself on the wrong end of a stake?"

Kuroko's gaze drifted past Aomine, clouded with some unknown meaning—oh. Right. Just dusted a vamp. Maybe that had been an insensitive thing to say.

This time Kise was the one to smack him. "Go make yourself useful and find something to wrap the wound with!"

"Aah? I'm the one who saved your neck from getting chewed on—"

"Please," Kuroko interjected, politely tense, "don't bother. I'll be fine. More importantly, we should hurry and help Momoi-san. I'll show you the way."

Aomine's head snapped up. "Then let's go." 

Before Kuroko could even make a token effort to stand, Kise swept him up in a princess carry. "All set!"

"Kise-kun…"

"This is the fastest way, isn't it?"

"…"

Blow to his dignity aside, Kuroko proved a reliable guide as he led them through the mansion. They passed through the main foyer where the crackle and clash of sorcery was louder than ever, flashing white through the windows and raising the hairs on the back of Aomine's neck. Whatever battle was taking place out there sure seemed impressive. Maybe he should give Midorima a little more credit. Maybe.

They were nearing the entrance to the cellar when Aomine first heard it: frenzied pounding and incensed shouts of, "Let me out, you son of a bitch! _Let me out!_ "

"Sounds like we found Momoicchi."

Kise didn't know her well enough. Aomine was intimately familiar with every nuance of Momoi's fury, having been on the receiving end of it for most of his life, and this wasn't her usual angry banshee screaming. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard her sound like this before, and before he knew it he was breaking away with a dash, lungs all of a sudden burning and throat closing tight. One thing he could say for certain: there was no need for him to know exactly how terror bled into the cracks of her strained voice.

The door was, of course, locked. "Fuck!"

"Dai-chan?!"

No convenient glass to smash through, just a heavy panel of solid wood. _Fuck, fuck, motherfuck._ It was hinged to swing towards him, so kicking it open wasn't going to be easy. "Kise, get over here. Satsuki, stand back."

"I can't!"

"What do you mean you ca—"

She screamed, and then something punched through the door—literally punched, with a large, fist-shaped appendage that stopped inches from Aomine's chest. He grabbed around a thick, rubbery wrist, and braced his foot against the wall to pull with all his might.

Whatever was on the other side was unprepared, because it thudded readily into the door when Aomine yanked. That wasn't enough to knock the door out of its frame, though. He gritted his teeth as the thing began to thrash, trying to reclaim its arm and probably him along with it. "Satsuki, you there?"

She answered him, thankfully, and sounded farther away when she did. "I'm okay!"

One less thing to worry about. He soon had another problem in the shape of a second arm smashing through the door. Aomine swung out of its reach, bending the limb he held with a muted crunch. Between his strength and the weight on the other side, the weakened door finally gave in, and out toppled a smooth, fleshy figure.

This was looking familiar. To be sure, Aomine reversed his grip on his knife and stabbed down into the captured arm. The blade went clean through the meat without being impeded by the dense resistance of bone, and came out bloodless.

"Shit, again?"

The homunculus snatched its arm back. It was smaller than the other one Aomine had tangled with, and not as misshapen, possessing a more streamlined body. Still hairless and faceless, but with bumps and dips that resembled a human form, like someone had for some fucked up reason decided to stretch a thick layer of waxy skin over a normal person.

Getting to its feet, the creature moved in the same creepy, boneless way, but— _faster_ , Aomine realized as he flattened against the wall to avoid being grabbed. He sliced, but as expected, the flesh wound had no effect.

The mark, all he had to do was find the sorcerer's mark. Aomine maneuvered into a more open room so he could see the thing better, although part of him really didn't want to. This homunculus did him the unpleasant favor of not being clothed, and it was like looking at a naked Barbie doll—there were lumps on its chest and a curve to its hips that gave it a feminine silhouette, but it otherwise wasn't anatomically correct. Aomine couldn't tell if that made it more or less gross.

He kicked a chair into its path to slow it down so he could circle around and check its back. There was nothing on the front. Nothing from behind, either. Shit. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure what he was supposed to be looking for.

"Kuroko, I don't see any fuckin' mark!"

Kise stood with Kuroko at a relatively safe distance away. Momoi had joined them, wobbly on her feet, but otherwise holding up well enough. "Eh?" she said. "But there has to be a crest for this kind of spell, you can't miss it."

Kuroko only looked troubled. Real big help, there.

Aomine leaped over the back of a sofa and grabbed a shovel from the fireplace to smack away the hand coming for his head. Then he drove in with the edge to the monster's midsection. Before he could pin it somewhere, he had to duck away from another swipe. Goddamn, it recovered fast. "If there is, it's somewhere I really don't wanna look!"

The homunculus swept out with its leg. Aomine barely cleared it with a jump, and twisted around to swing his knife horizontally into the back of its bared neck. He didn't have enough force while in midair to cut through completely, but he pushed the blade in as deep as it would go, using that as leverage to mostly evade the arm that flung towards him. The blow glanced off his side, and his landing skidded into a coffee table. "Isn't there another way to kill this thing?!"

Momoi offered dubiously, "If the sorcerer could be forced to cut off the connection… but this doesn't seem to be a normal homunculus, so even that may not work."

Aomine hefted the coffee table at the homunculus, but all that did was create a lot of firewood. "Are you kidding me?"

"There's another way," Kuroko spoke up at last. "If the destructive force is greater than the healing rate, it can't regenerate from nothing."

"Huh," Aomine said, considering what he had on hand. The knife wasn't going to do him any good. Furniture was proving almost as useless, and hauling any more of it would only wear him out. Maybe one of the big-ass chandeliers could splatter it if timed just right, but the logistics of that made his head hurt.

Fortunately, he did have an ace up his sleeve.

Aomine ducked beneath a thrown piece of table to retrieve the flask tucked into the top of his boot, newly filled thanks to that earlier jaunt to the bar. Unscrewing the cap released a sharp smell like rubbing alcohol, which he kept away from his nose. Now would be a piss-poor time to have another go at the hallucinations, as interesting as that experience had been. He was a bit sorry that he couldn't sell the stuff for some much-needed cash, but some things—like his life—were worth more than that.

Getting close without taking a hit required all his concentration, doubly so when he was trying not to spill on himself. Aomine parried with his knife, blocking an arm long enough to splash radioactive yellow liquid across the homunculus's featureless face. Lacking a nose or mouth, Aomine wasn't expecting it to be affected by the toxin. It didn't even register the wetness dribbling down its oval head, lunging for him with single-minded intensity. He dodged, making an arc with his arm and emptying the rest of the flask across its torso. Even being careful and keeping his distance, everything was starting to stink like alcohol.

Step one: check.

Step two: fire. 

Aomine shoved a hand into his pocket, wrapping fingers around the cheap plastic of his lighter. He had a lot of bad habits but smoking wasn't one of them, he kept a light on hand purely for stunts like this. Burning was a good solution for a lot of his problems, albeit a messy one. He was more than okay with messy in this case. The living room was plenty wrecked by now, but he could happily make it much worse.

A flick of his thumb sparked a tiny flame to life, wavering as the lighter then went sailing through the air, almost in slow motion. It bounced off the homunculus's chest with an unfurling of orange fire that raced across every drop of liquid it touched. _That_ got the monster's attention.

Plan successful. 

Unfortunately, it was a short-lived victory. The homunculus, now wreathed in flame and producing a gag-inducing stench of burning flesh, apparently made peace with its improved state and went back to the business of trying to maim him.

"That," Aomine said, pointing at the fiery nightmare in case his meaning wasn't clear, "is not okay."

The problem was that the amount of liquid was too small, and the rest of the thing wasn't catching fire. The burned parts smoldered and melted a bit, but stopped once the flames died out, and then the bitch just healed. He could still use this plan, it just needed to be bigger.

Maybe the kitchen had an oven big enough to do this Hansel and Gretel style.

Before he could look around, something went whizzing by his face. His eyes tracked it, widening, and the expensive bottle of tequila shattered against the homunculus's head. The dying flames surged anew, crawling all over the additional fuel.

"Hah! That was pretty good, right?"

"Keep going," Momoi instructed, handing Kise another amber-filled bottle. Her arms were full of them, clinking together against her chest.

"Not bad," Aomine had to admit.

"It was Kurokocchi's idea. I told him he shouldn't encourage your inner pyromaniac, but he insisted."

"Well," Kuroko said, propped up against the wall and serene as you please, "if Kise-kun had more useful abilities, we'd have other options." 

"This isn't useful enough for you?" Kise wound up and pitched the second bottle, which smashed into a shoulder with a burst of flame, bits and pieces of glass embedding in the soft, oozing flesh. Slowly, the homunculus turned its attention to the source of the attack.

Aomine picked up a lamp and it went flying. The homunculus whirled on him again, batting the shade away, advancing a few steps before a third alcoholic missile careened into its back with bloom of fire. It shook itself in confusion, globs of flesh coming loose to spatter on the floor.

"Ew," Momoi observed, and promptly took a sip from her next bottle before passing it off to Kise, who did the same.

"You better save some of that for me," Aomine said.

"But you don't turn 20 for another two months, Dai-chan."

Aomine's middle finger told her what he thought about the legal drinking age.

The homunculus was burning readily now, engulfed in flames as it staggered around and dripped fire onto the carpet. Smoke wafted up and clouded the room. There wasn't much of a hands-on fight left to be had, so Aomine slunk away where he could snatch a drink out from under Momoi's watchful, but indulgent eye. He took a swig without checking the label, so it was his own fault for getting a blistering mouthful of Bacardi 151. 

Momoi gave him an innocent look that had stopped fooling him when he was 8 ("I had _no idea_ there was a bee nest there, Dai-chan!"), this time offering him the limpid excuse of, "Higher proof burns better."

He sneered at her and tossed the bottle over his shoulder with barely a backwards glance, and still managed to hit bullseye judging by the whoosh of fire that could be heard. What he didn't expect was the guttural scream that followed.

There was no build-up to the sound—it ripped free from a gaping hole approximate to where the homunculus's mouth would be, flesh melting inward and sloughing around a reddened orifice. The cavern was empty of teeth or tongue, lit up inside by flickers of flame that slid inward and down some sort of gullet from which the screams persisted. They were hoarse, wretched, and unending. Whenever the tortured noise started to ebb, it was violently dragged back out again.

"So much for not feeling pain." His gut gave a twist, but Aomine was no stranger to dying cries. Though, as a rule, he never put up with them for long. 

The homunculus paid Aomine no mind as he walked right up to the writhing, conflagrated mess. It half crouched, half slumped on the floor, and the air around it blurred with heat. Holding his breath against the combination of thick smoke and a foul, rubber-cooked smell, Aomine picked up a broken-off table leg, got into position beside the tormented creature, aimed, and swung.

His blow met with little resistance. The homunculus's soft, dissolving head collapsed and fell apart in chunks, which put a gurgling end to the screams. Flesh bubbled at the stump of its neck before that, too, melted into the mass of its torso, arms folding in to join an ever growing puddle spreading across the floor.

Finished, Aomine dropped the table leg into the burning pile and returned to the others. Momoi had sunk to her knees, head bent, hair falling forward to curtain her face. Kuroko was tight-lipped, his unblinking gaze focused beyond Aomine. He gave away little no matter how hard Aomine stared at him. Kise wore an expression of horrified fascination, opening his mouth to speak but either thought better of it or was unable to come up with anything to say.

Momoi was finally the one to ask, "Was it like that last time, too?" Her voice was soft, but steady. Not even the slightest tremor rocked her frame. She still wouldn't look up.

Aomine would have preferred hysterical crying to this. A little bit of nightmare fuel was nothing, Momoi was tougher than that. She only got this way when she was thinking deeply about something complicated, and her conclusions were never happy ones. He shifted from foot to foot before eking out, "Not… exactly." 

Momoi said nothing, but he had the distinct suspicion that this was not a good time to tax her patience.

"I don't know, I guess this one was stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot creepier what with… all that."

Kise could no longer contain himself. "Yeah, _that._ I'm just saying, I could have lived the rest of my long, long life without _that_."

"Oh, suck it up, you eat raw organs—"

"I do not—"

" _Boys_ ," Momoi sighed loudly. She glared at them both from the corner of her eye, then aimed that laser-focused look onto Kuroko. "Kuroko-kun, is there anything you'd like to add?"

Her words may have been phrased as a question, but her tone wasn't taking "no" for an answer. Almost as reluctant as Aomine, he said, "…It's true that this time was different. More advanced."

"Not to mention the abnormalities. That appearance, the reactions, and at the end…" The memory reflected in her eyes with suppressed horror. Visibly, she collected herself. "Homunculi are imitations of life, and imitations only—aren't they, Kuroko-kun?" 

"…Yes."

Momoi fisted a hand in her hair and tugged. "God, why is it so hard to get anything useful out of this bunch? Fine." She got to her feet, dusting herself off. "I'm going back downstairs. There's something I need to check."

Aomine frowned. "Can't it wait until after—hey! Satsuki!"

"I'll be right back!"

"Famous last words," he griped, and followed after her.

#

Midorima wasn't inclined towards haste, but nor could he afford to miss his opportunity. His magic stores, though considerable, were not infinite, and an aggressive offense drained him fast. He had not yet reached dangerous levels of depletion, but it would be wise to make his move before that happened. Waiting any longer would not improve the situation.

_Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit._

Then, like an answer to his proposal, Takao nudged him through their bond. "Need a hand, Shin-chan?"

If he was being honest with himself, he'd already known that Takao wouldn't obediently stay put, and his timing couldn't have been more opportune. Midorima took it as a favorable sign, though with night upon them Takao had better be careful with how close he flew to the battle. His sight had its limits in the dark. "If you have anything useful to contribute, I won't object."

"Hey now, who do you think I am? Besides, thanks to you there's plenty of light. You look clear, by the way. Whatever he's got planned, he's playing it close."

"You're certain?"

"Positive. Whatever spell he has wrapped around him is dense. No sign of any stragglers. He might not have even bothered to multi-cast."

Midorima absorbed this with a frown. He would have doubted the information coming from anyone else but his partner. From what he knew, Hanamiya wasn't the type to put all his eggs in one basket like that. He was patient, yes, and they both knew this whole battle was just a drawn-out waiting game with a big finish, but he couldn't have been idling on the defensive the entire time. Surely he wouldn't underestimate Midorima that badly.

But what if it was the opposite?

"Shin-chan?" Takao must have sensed the realization as it struck.

"Really," Midorima muttered, tasting bitterness thick enough to choke on, "today has been a most unlucky day for Cancer."

He had precious little time left to decide on a course of action. His primary urge was to cut off his stream of power immediately since he was only playing into Hanamiya's hands this way, but doing so would trigger a backlash he wasn't prepared for. There were two options available to him: he could throw everything he had into one final push that would be determined by the whim of fate, or he could draw up a defensive countermeasure that would drag this into a much longer, significantly disadvantageous fight. Both scenarios were unappealing, and dividing his resources at this stage would only weaken him overall.

In the end, the choice was forced out of him.

"I'd say it's about time," Hanamiya announced, and Midorima pulled hard to rein in all his crackling energy. It was reflex, rather than logic, that made him move. He wouldn't take that precarious shot with failure hanging like an axe over his head.

Vestiges of lightning clung around Hanamiya in burning threads. He spun them together into a single, fearsomely jagged bolt, and Midorima braced for impact. He knew his own magic best; the hit would be tremendous, earth-shaking and flash-hot, but he should be able to withstand it. Takao had already winged off to get safely out of range.

Hanamiya launched the bolt with an imperious snap of his fingers. It split the air with a crack, but Midorima never felt the bone-jarring strike land. Instead, the energy lanced in the opposite direction, crunching through the second story wall of the house and branching into forks of sizzling light. A whole row of windows burst, spraying glass and sparks. The lightning stabbed through the roof with a rush of heat that left a bright afterimage in its wake, as well as an open maw through which the flicker of fire was visible. A groan and creak preceded the partial collapse of the third floor, smoke rising into the night.

The grin on Hanamiya's face was ghastly lit by his handiwork, and sharply victorious at what must have been a great deal of valuable evidence being thoroughly consumed by burning, caving wreckage. Apparently it did not matter what he lost, as long as someone else lost more.

Hanamiya's shield was down, but the trap spell Midorima had woven around him would not react when Hanamiya wielded Midorima's own magic. Trace bits of stolen lightning continued to crawl in his grasp, weaving through his fingers into the shape of another bolt. "And just so you know," he said, twirling his wrist with the thunderous spear aimed to strike once more, "your tagalongs are still inside. I wonder if they'll be all right?"

Midorima couldn't care less about the two fools who had insisted on involving themselves, but the principle of the matter was that he could not allow the insult to stand. All at once, he unleashed everything he had. The power tore away from him in a blaze of fury, and Hanamiya was prepared for it, making a swift, anticipated adjustment to let loose his own counterattack.

The force of the resulting clash pushed Midorima back starting with a shockwave through his body. Magic rippled through him, each wave cresting higher and breaking harder than the last until it screamed relentlessly in a furious backlash. He clenched his teeth and held fast. It was his own damn power, he wasn't going to crumple under it so easily.

"Shin-chan!"

Of course Takao wouldn't know better than to stay away. A streamlined figure wove expertly in between the glancing streaks of lightning and flared to a stop behind Midorima. Feathers rolled and scattered as the man-shape emerged from the hawk-shape, and a pair of large wings furled around either side to enclose them both. Immediately, the pounding reverberations were dampened, although Takao shuddered with the shared burden. "You truly are an idiot," Midorima said with feeling. His breathing was loud and heavy within the shelter of Takao's wings.

"What are a few singed feathers between partners, eh?" A pointed chin came to rest on Midorima's shoulder and arms made a loose circle around his waist. "You can rely on me, you know."

"I know that."

"Yeah, but a reminder every once in a while doesn't hurt."

"Hmph."

They didn't have to bear with the onslaught for long. Through the fanned sweep of Takao's wingtips, the blinding light began to recede, taking the overflow of magical energy with it. Flashes dwindled and died, leaving behind a burned-out pocket of stagnant air. Takao's relieved sigh was loud in the void as he stepped away, wincing as he shrugged his wings into place at his back, which left Midorima free to face whatever remained of this confrontation. That last attack had very nearly tapped him dry.

Only, Hanamiya was nowhere in sight.

Anger slipped weakly through Midorima's fingers, lost to numbness. He was that tired. "Takao?"

"Sorry," he grimaced, scanning the area from where he stood. If asked, he'd take flight again, but Midorima had the feeling it would be a wasted effort and he'd had his fill of that for tonight. The disappointment lined his body like lead. "I'd say he snuck through a portal somewhere, but it's hard to pin down in the middle of all that." He waved a hand at the burning mansion, glowing orange against the night sky and fluctuating with a multitude of unraveling spells that would be impossible to decipher.

Midorima couldn't recall ever having this big of a mess on his hands.

"Ah!" Takao perked up. "Looks like Satsuki-chan and her pals made it out. Let's go check on them."

"That's not necessary—what are you—stop that!" For a hawk spirit that weighed significantly less than a human, Takao was persistent in tugging Midorima along. He was left with little choice but to follow or suffer the indignity of being dragged. Speaking of indignity: "At least change again!"

"Eeeh?" Takao spread his arms and wings to glance down the naked length of his body, shameless as ever. "But I'm most natural this way."

"Public indecency, Takao."

"There's no one around but us and Satsuki-chan's already seen quite a lot of me—"

" _That is not the point._ "

"Aw, Shin-chan has no sense of adventure."

#

When the entire house shook to the bottommost layer of its foundations, that was their cue to leave. Aomine didn't bother listening to the piecemeal directions being tossed around from either side of him ("down the hall—" "the front door should be—" "this way—"), he just picked up the nearest chair and heaved it through the first window he came across.

"Brutish," Momoi remarked, "but effective."

Kise passed Kuroko to Aomine and went through first. It was sort of funny watching him awkwardly fold his tall length through the opening. He knocked the remaining pieces of glass out of the way, but still almost sliced his head open in the process, which was somewhat less amusing to witness. 

"Careful!" 

"It's okay, it's okay." He managed to make it safely to the other side, then lent Momoi a hand. She gingerly clutched a bag she'd found in the subbasement, holding it to her chest with equal care and revulsion. Aomine didn't pretend to understand.

Kuroko sagged in his arms, head bumping against Aomine's shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "I think I am reaching my limit."

It wouldn't be the first time Aomine had an unconscious Kuroko to carry away somewhere, though this was the bloodier, more harrowing version. "S'fine. Knock yourself out."

"I may have to. This position is uncomfortable."

The dry, even-toned comment surprised a snort out of Aomine. "Well, it's about to get worse."

Kuroko made a soft huff of resigned agreement, noticeable only because Aomine felt the faint stir of it against his skin. It occurred to him, then, that a vampire's mouth was awfully close to his neck. This realization failed to induce the expected response of stake-it-or-punch-its-teeth-out, but he didn't have the time to ponder that weirdness because Kise was motioning for him to hurry up with an expression that shifted from anxious to arch to just plain _knowing_ in half a second. The punching urge chose that moment to surface, but Aomine had his hands too full to do anything about it. He retracted his appreciation for Kise's instincts, though, they weren't fun when they were being a pain in the ass.

He turned sideways to maneuver Kuroko feet-first through the window. Kise caught his legs, sliding an arm under his knees before reaching around to support his shoulders, and the transfer was complete. Kuroko bore the process without a sound and there was hardly a twitch to his tired expression.

"You realize," Kise was saying to Kuroko as Aomine ducked his head under the top of the window and swung his leg over the sill, "sneaking out is not allowed this time."

Aomine cleared the window, and they were home free. "What are you, his mom?"

"It's normal to be concerned!"

"Aomine-kun, please do something about your pet."

Grinning at Kise's wounded, "eeeh?!" Aomine whistled and said, "Kise, heel."

"Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to spend time with you both…"

Momoi expertly ignored them. "Oh, look, it's Midorin and Kazu-kun."

At that mention, Kise brightened. "Is Takaocchi naked again?"

Momoi turned round eyes on him while Aomine laughed at her shock, although he stopped once Momoi recovered to let out a regretful sigh. "No, sadly, he's in his hawk form."

"Hey, the stupid fox is one thing, but Satsuki—"

"Yes, Dai-chan, tell me all about your double standards."

Aomine shut his mouth, suddenly finding himself in the middle of a minefield where he didn't know what word might set something off. Momoi waited him out with a challenging look in her eye as the seconds ticked down, and he came up with nothing at all to say.

"I believe Momoi-san wins this round," Kuroko decreed with a voice of finality.

#

Midorima drew the tip of his finger down one metal cuff, then the other, and the shackles split into clean halves to fall away from Momoi's wrists. Her fair skin was ringed with bruises. That wouldn't do. It was an unseemly sight, plain and simple, and Momoi was not adept at healing, so adding a touch of magic to hasten the natural process was a small matter for Midorima. The purple marks would fade by morning, one less reminder of tonight's events.

"Thanks, Midorin—ah, Midorima-kun."

He should have welcomed the change of address to something more proper, but the slip only made it worse. A stupid nickname was preferable to insincerity. "I didn't come for you."

"Aw, don't be mean, Shin-chan." Takao perched above them amidst patches of pine needles. Midorima steadfastly ignored him—showing any sign of having heard the comment would only attract Momoi's notice to the private conversation. She may not be able to hear the words, but she had an uncanny knack for reading between the lines.

Remaining ignorant of what had just passed, she offered a sheepish smile with a hint of a twinge. That, too, Midorima filed under Do Not Address in a subcategory reserved for everything related to Momoi. "I know," she said, "but thank you anyway."

Her feet shifted when he knelt to cut the bands locked around her ankles. "Hold still."

She obliged and ceased her fidgeting, which was marginally less of a distraction. The hem of her summery dress fluttered above her knees, and Midorima spared the thought that if she was going to investigate potentially dangerous things she should have the foresight to dress more appropriately. He forced his attention quickly past her calves to settle on the thick metal weighing down her sandaled feet. One sharp slice, then two, and the fetters came apart with a clink. He brushed them away, applying that drop of healing to the bruises while he was at it, and that was one more matter taken care of.

Momoi sighed mournfully and looked down at her hands. "You make it look so easy. I still can't do a thing."

"The seal will unravel on its own after a few days. It's a modification of a spell commonly used to subdue renegade sorcerers. Naturally, I'm quite familiar with it. I could remove it for you if I wanted, but I believe it would be wise for you to use the downtime to stay out of trouble."

She had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I'm really sorry. I had no idea things would turn out like this. Um…"

Takao made a soft, comforting sound, and Momoi turned her face up to smile at him. "Thanks, Kazu-kun."

Midorima felt a tad slighted—he didn't blame her for anything, but before he could find a way to clear up the misunderstanding she faced him with renewed confidence.

"I don't know how much it will help, but I have this for you." She peeled off the bag slung around over her shoulder. "I grabbed what I could from the workshop. I doubt he kept much of his real research there, but, well, it's something. I have a condition, though."

As magistrate, Midorima had the authority to demand she hand over all evidence, but instead he inclined his head. "Let's hear it."

Her gaze drifted meaningfully towards the spot where her friends waited, or maybe loitered was the better term. The three of them sat or sprawled in the grass, the hunter and fox trading words while the vampire was seemingly out cold between them. While sorcerers and hunters generally tried to stay out of each other's business unless collaborating was necessary, the procedure was clear in this case. Midorima had certain responsibilities to adhere to.

Responsibilities that Momoi bluntly derailed with her stipulation: "Let Kuroko-kun be. I realize this must be a difficult thing to ask—and I _won't_ ask why, I know what you'll say to that—but I owe him that much. I wouldn't have been able to reach you without him, so the way I see it, he saved my life. If you overlook him this once, I'll give this to you." 

The bag dangled in her hand, tempting, but not for the reasons Momoi assumed. Midorima pushed his glasses up. "I see. I'll tell you this, though: I have no intention of doing a thing about that vampire for time being."

"Oh?" Her head canted to the side, and she planted a hand on her hip thoughtfully. As usual, she didn't disappoint him. "…You want to use him as bait."

"It would be… convenient for me, if I knew where he was."

"From the look of things, you'd be better off having this conversation with Ki-chan." She smiled brightly at the sour expression that crossed his face, and her laugh was unrestrained. "But I'll do my best."

"Of course. I'd expect nothing less."

"Afterwards, I'd still appreciate it if you left Kuroko-kun alone."

He should have known better than to assume Momoi wouldn't think ahead. "…Fine. I, personally, will wash my hands of this matter once Hanamiya is dealt with. That's all I can promise you."

"I'll accept that." Momoi extended her hand. Her skin was soft, but her grip was firm, and her fingers tightened around his before pulling away. "There's just one thing I'd like to ask." She stepped close—a little too close for comfort, but Midorima resolutely held his ground and snapped to attention as her voice dipped into a rare, hard-edged undertone. "Do you know what happened to the victims?"

From the sound of it, she wasn't asking because she didn't know. His eyes narrowed, but annoyance was only part of the reason. One day Momoi was going to figure out too much, or ask one question too many, and it would reach the wrong ears. "Momoi," he warned, matching her steel for steel.

She deflected and pressed on with singular focus, warming to a feverish intensity. "Do you know what he _did_ to them? What he turned them into? I imagine those who didn't survive the process were the lucky ones! If I'd known, I would have at least tried—"

"Konoe was beyond saving. I suspected as much, and prepared for the worst." Midorima pried Momoi's fingers away from where they'd fisted in his shirt. They were trembling with rage or horror or disgust, maybe a mix of all three, twitching in his hold. He looked her in the eye and said, "There was nothing else you could do."

Her ragged inhale and exhale could be felt in the small space between them, heavy air that collected and condensed into solid, bitter blocks of words. "That doesn't change the fact that what he did was horrible. Monstrous."

"I didn't say it wasn't. It's an abomination, and he will be held accountable. I'll make sure of it."

A few more deep breaths passed, each one a little smoother than the last as she gradually reined herself in. She blinked, lashes sweeping the angry, haunted shadows from her eyes until her gaze was clear once more. The top of her head ducked in a nod. "Good," she said and squeezed his hand, making him aware that he was still holding onto hers. "If it's Midorima-kun, I don't have anything to worry about. Please catch him soon."

"I wasn't intending to procrastinate." He summoned up an air of disdain while extricating himself from her warm touch. "In fact, I have a great deal of work to do starting now, and would much appreciate if you and your associates did not interfere."

Momoi took in the nearby sight of the smoldering ruin of the house. "That's a job and a half, all right." She worried her lip, and for a moment Midorima was sure she was going to offer to help—which he'd have to refuse, for a multitude of reasons—but instead she gave her head a shake, talking herself out of it. "I know, I know. Don't get involved, stay out of your way, just leave already, et cetera. Does that sound about right?"

"She forgot the 'nanodayo'," Takao added uselessly, laughter fizzing down the line of the bond. This time Midorima glared freely at him, and Momoi took one look before adding her own bubbly giggle.

"Well, then," she said, "I'll take my leave. Thank you again, Midorima-kun, and good luck. Bye, Kazu-kun!" She lifted a hand to wave, then paused mid-turn. "Oh, right!" Her arm wound back and swung, tossing the bag in an underhand throw that Midorima caught by the strap. The weight of it came as a surprise; Momoi had apparently salvaged quite a lot in those last moments.

He supposed he should express some perfunctory gratitude, or commend her perhaps, but the chance passed by all too soon. She was already jogging across the grass to round up her companions with cajoling words that turned into stinging slaps upon unresponsive shoulders, urging them up and moving with familiar exasperation.

Pine needles shivered as Takao sidled along his branch. "All's well that ends well, I guess."

"This is hardly over."

"Yeah, and we'd better make it look good if we don't want our asses on the line. Not to mention Satsuki-chan's, although hers is cuter."

"Don't be irrelevant." Midorima's fingers twitched. He _could_ charge up a mild jolt straight into the tree. It would be juvenile, but worth it to make Takao squawk.

"Irrelevant, but not inappropriate? I had no idea Shin-chan was a perv—ouch!"

Static crackled at the tip of Midorima's finger. "Inappropriate, too."

"Spoilsport," Takao grumbled, but not without his durable good humor. He twisted his neck around to smooth his ruffled feathers. "You didn't even tell Satsuki-chan what you found out about Akashi." 

"Now is hardly the time to have a little chat about my family history and 'the one that got away'."

"Eh, fair enough. But later?"

They were all in too deep to feign ignorance anymore, and Midorima was thoroughly fed up with being on the defensive. Short of keeping Momoi under lock and key, there didn't seem to be any stopping her involvement at this juncture, and that would land them both in hot water or worse with the Conclave. Takao's assessment, while crude, was pointedly accurate. There was nothing else for Midorima to do but press the advantages he still had. "Yes," he agreed, turning an idea over in his mind to consider its worth before committing. "We'll save that conversation for later."

Takao paused in his preening to exude satisfaction. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Look forward a little less," Midorima snapped before Takao could get any more ahead of himself with his notions, whether they were irrelevant or inappropriate or some other category yet to be defined. "I need your attention on the present. Come, Takao, there's work to do."

Wings unfurled and beat in the air. "Roger that, partner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This terrible story arc originally came to exist because I needed a reason for Kuroko to live with Aomine and Kise. That is all. Then stuff kept happening and now I regret everything. Every. Thing.


End file.
